


Angels High, Demons Wild

by CatKing_Catkin



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Betrayal, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Demonic Possession, Gen, Implied Torture, Kidnapping, Not Really Character Death, Sacrifice, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 44,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4, post "Heaven and Hell", pre "Sex and Violence". Lillith makes the mistake of intruding into Lower Tadfield, making a bit to get the Antichrist on their side. Adam's reply is to point Crowley and Aziraphale in her direction. After all, they don't want to let all of their hard work averting the last apocalypse go to waste, do they? </p><p>The two old friends make plans, head across the pond, and split up to do some damage control on the demon's efforts to break the seals and free Lucifer. Inevitably, they come across the Winchesters, and their new guardian angel. Unfortunately, as always seems to be the case, the Winchesters bring danger in their wake, and a threat to two of the oldest beings in existence. Crowley and Aziraphale realize too late that they might just have walked into a trap, and it's a race against time to prevent yet another seal from breaking and bringing Lucifer one step closer to walking the world once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: An Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I have to thank/blame my Mother for this particular plot bunny. She's the real Supernatural fan of the family. However, I like to think this is one of my better stories. It's taken up a hell of a lot of time, but I can't deny that I'm proud of it.
> 
> Sam and Dean aren't going to show up right away, but it won't take too long before everybody's all together. I've got to get two of the Dramatis Personae across the ocean, after all. The Prologue's a bit lengthy, and most of the chapters will be pretty long. 
> 
> This prologue takes place a few months before the actual story begins...I'd say the events of _Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester_ have only just started at the time of this chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It was a cold day in Lower Tadfield. Autumn had come to the tiny village and settled in. It had painted the leaves of the trees burnished copper and gold, sucked the green from the grass, and gave the wind a bite to match any dog. It was an autumn you might expect to see in an after-school Thanksgiving special, the sort that couldn't go ten minutes without teaching kindness and goodwill towards men and the virtues of eating until you were half-sick.

Adam Young had watched quite a lot of after-school Thanksgiving specials over the years.

And as far as Adam Young was concerned, it was as good an autumn as any autumn had a right to be. The forces of nature had truly outdone themselves this year. The trees had shed their leaves so quickly that it was almost as though they'd been expecting the Them to use them for leaf piles.

The Them, never four to disappoint, were spending the day doing just that.

Currently it was Pepper's turn to jump. The three boys took the opportunity to rest against a tree…making the leaf piles was nowhere near as fun as jumping in them, in their very definite opinion…while the lone female of the group backed slowly away from the heap, preparing to charge. The only person who got more distance than Pepper on a good jump was Adam. She could send leaves flying yards in any direction with a good run-up. She pushed her hair – braided into two pigtails, as usual – away from her face, clenched her fists at her side, and prepared to run.

Adam reached over and absently scratched Dog's ears. On cue, Dog's tail began to thump against the ground. Brian was absently engaged in poking at the dirt with a stick, hoping to uncover some worms so he could scare Wensleydale. And Wensleydale was just as absently inspecting his shirt, where dirt and leaf mold had stained it to the point where he could barely recognize it. It had been a new shirt. He'd been planning to spend the day enjoying having a new shirt by constructing some of his newest models. But then Adam had come knocking at his door and asked if he might like to spend the day jumping in wet, dirty leaves instead. Wensley had decided that the models could wait.

The three boys looked up as Pepper began to run. Her face was set, and they knew that there would be no putting the pile back together once their friend was done with it. The disassembling of a good leaf pile was serious business to Pepper.

With a battle cry that would have sent armies running for cover, Pepper leapt into the air and came down. Adam nodded approvingly as her bright red pigtails were the last to disappear into the pile and leaves were scattered in all directions.

As the storm of red and gold dispersed, Pepper came back into view, shaking leaves out of her hair. She looked over at Adam and grinned proudly. Adam smiled back at his friend…and then something shifted in his mind, something changed before his eyes, something imperceptible but just as present…and he froze.

Brian grinned and made to stand. "It's my turn next!"

"No," said Adam. He also got to his feet, keeping one hand on Dog's back and both eyes on Pepper. "I reckon that's enough for today."

"What?!" cried Brian indignantly. In his opinion, a mere three hours at jumping in leaves was not enough. "It's not even dinner time! Why's that gotta be enough?!"

"It's going to rain," said Adam firmly. He did not look at Brian; he had eyes only for Pepper. "It's going to rain and the leaves will get wet and everyone knows you get the best leaf piles when they're dry."

Wensley frowned in puzzlement, before shading his eyes and glancing up through the treetops.

"…the sky does look rather grey," he conceded. "And the air feels…odd. There seems to be a lot of humidity building up. But on television, they said it would be sunny all day."

"My dad says television makes your brain turn into porridge," said Adam, still in that same level, firm voice. "So obviously people on television must have porridge for brains. What do people on television know, anyway? They stay inside all day and sit at their desks and tell people how the world's going to be. Not a proper job at all."

Wensleydale had to concede that Adam had a good point. He nodded and joined the other two boys back on their feet. "I…suppose so." He did not say that the thought of working with weather satellites for a living made his heart flutter in a way that even Pepper had not yet managed, because Adam's disapproval could cut through stone.

"So what'll we do?" Brain demanded. He gestured wildly with his hands, at the woods around them. "We've only got a few more hours!"

"We'll watch some television. I heard there's one of those Thanksgiving specials on in a little while. The ones about Pilgrims and Indians and giant pumpkins."

Pepper folded her arms, glowering at Adam. "You just said watching television turns your brain into porridge! _I'm_ not afraid of getting wet!"

"Sometimes your brain needs regular porridging," said Adam simply. "And Dog smells funny when he's wet. We'll go to my house and watch."

Brian nodded slowly, beginning to warm up to the idea. Adam had recently gotten his hands on the newest Transmogrifier Robot, and might have gotten tired enough of it by now to consider letting him play with it. Adam's mother, who knew how things were with the Them, was good about keeping enough cocoa mix in the house to keep them quiet. Wensley, who knew he was already in for a lecture for the state of his shirt, nodded eagerly. They made to tramp off through the woods, back across the field to Adam's house…and had only gotten a few yards before they realized that it was just the two of them.

Looking back, Brian and Wensley saw that Adam and Pepper had not moved. Dog was shifting nervously from paw to paw, but Adam kept a hand tightly clenched around the scruff of his neck. Their gaze was locked, and the air between them seemed…charged, somehow.

"Adam?" called Brian.

"You both go on," said Adam, without taking his eyes off of Pepper. "We'll be along. Pepper and I just have to clean up the leaves."

"Why?" asked Wensley.

"Because its polite. Squirrels and moles and animals like that probably spent days making this place nice and tidy, so we're going to clean it up. We'll be along soon."

"Of course we will," said Pepper. "Adam and I just have stuff to talk about. Important stuff. While we tidy up the leaves, of course."

Brian and Wensley exchanged a look. Something strange was going on between their leader and his de facto second in command. Something strange, deeply personal, and incomprehensible to the two boys. It was as though they were two strangers looking in on something that did not include them. As lifelong members…or as long as a life could be, when you were thirteen…of the Them, it was not a nice feeling.

But the two boys heaved a mutual sigh, and continued walking away through the woods. The clouds were massing overhead, now. A storm was fast approaching. It was definitely going to rain.

Adam waited until he could no longer hear the sound of sneakers crunching on frozen ground before he dared to breath. Pepper smiled at him.

"Weren't we going to clean up, Adam?" she asked pleasantly. "We oughtta hurry, if we are, or else Brian will eat all the popcorn before the movie starts."

"My mom can always make more," said Adam simply. "And anyway, you were right. We do have stuff to talk about. Important stuff. But before we do, you really need to leave Pepper alone."

Pepper's smile widened even as her eyes changed. The familiar plain brown faded away, and what looked back at him was a flat marble white.

"You recognized me," she said happily.

"No. I don't. I don't reckon we've ever met. I just know you're not Pepper." Adam couldn't quite know how he knew. He just knew that he was right. Before his eyes was Pepper, properly known as Pippin Galadriel Moonchild. And yet…there was something about his friend that did not fit. He was looking at Pepper's body…familiar to him as his own tattered sneakers…but what was speaking to him in Pepper's voice did not at all belong in Pepper's body. "How long have you not been Pepper?"

"All day!" She took a step nearer to him. Dog gave a whine and tried to back up. Adam tightened his grip and stood his ground. "I just wanted to play with you, Adam. It's been so long since we've seen each other. I missed you a whole lot!"

She continued approaching him, taking slow deliberate steps, until barely a foot separated them. But Pepper leaned even closer, close enough for Adam to see just how empty her eyes were, and asked in a voice that was almost a plea. "Are you sure you don't remember me? Are you sure you don't remember your Auntie Lillith? But I guess you wouldn't. It's been a long time. Not to me, of course. But they put you here in a human body, so I guess it would be a long time to you. Thirteen years since we've last seen each other. Since you were last down there with us."

Adam felt a chill creeping down his spine. "Down where?" he asked.

Lillith pointed at the ground beneath their feet. "Down there! With me and your father! I used to take care of you when you were just starting to exist. You were so cute."

Adam did not remember any of this, but he did remember enough to know that, when Lillith referred to his "father", she was not talking about Mr. Young. She was talking about someone else entirely…

"What do you want with Pepper?!" he demanded, standing his ground.

Lillith giggled. "Nothing, silly! But she does have such a pretty body, don't you think?" When Adam only swallowed, this set Lillith off in a fresh bout of laughter. "You _do_! I can see it in your mind! Isn't that sweet? But if we're being honest…and I really hope we are…Pepper doesn't mean anything to me. Nothing at all. I just needed a physical form to talk to you, and she seemed as good as any."

Adam's fists clenched. Dog whined again as his master's grip on his scruff increased to the point of pain. "You need to leave Pepper alone now," he said. The words were spoken softly, but the voice behind them suddenly had enough force to move mountains. It was less an order, more a statement of fact.

A shiver ran through Pepper's body, and she took an involuntary step back. Her eyes narrowed.

"I guess the rumors were true," she said, and all traces of childishness or silliness were gone from Pepper's voice. "When you put everything right last time…you didn't put _yourself_ right, did you? You're still his son…"

Suddenly she was grinning again. "That's just perfect! That's wonderful news!"

"And why is that?" asked Adam warily. He could feel the faintest trace of something stirring in his mind…something familiar, something old, something infinitely powerful and something he thought he'd buried two years ago. That something knew the answer to his question before Lillith spoke again.

"It's all going to happen again, Adam. But this time, we're going to make sure we win. I've already set things in motion. This time, I'm going to make it happen _our_ way. Those stupid angels won't have a chance against us _this_ time. The seas will turn to blood and the earth will turn to ash and this time we will be the ones who rise up victorious. We will march on this world and we will end it. We will march on Heaven and we will end it. We're going to end the world, Adam. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"It wasn't fun last time." At least, it hadn't been fun once Adam had fully regained his senses. When he'd been drowning in his destiny as the Antichrist, he'd been having the time of his life. He'd been drunk on his own power as he reshaped the world in his image, magnificent in the certainty that it would be he… _he_ , Adam Young, son of Lucifer…who would make the world better.

 _No_. That had been two years ago, and two years was a long time when you'd only been alive for thirteen. He'd kept his powers, but his father was Mr. Young and he was Adam Young and that was that.

"Maybe," was what he said out loud in the face of Lillith's cold marble eyes. "Only it's really a lot of work. Ending the world, and all. The summer holidays are almost over and Mom and Dad are going to make me go back to school, and…"

Lillith giggled again. It was such a strange sound to hear, coming from Pepper's mouth. Pepper never giggled. Pepper chuckled, sniggered, or laughed so loud that birds would flee from nearby trees. Pepper never giggled.

"Silly!" said Lillith, when she'd calmed down a bit. " _You_ wouldn't be ending the world. You had your chance last time, and you blew it straight to…well, Hell! No, I'm afraid your father's not gonna trust you with the reins a second time. And neither are we. But if you're really good and help us break the Seals, you can watch and help us once Lucifer's back on Earth. If you don't…well, you're in a human body. You'll burn like the rest of them, when all's said and done."

She held out a hand. It was Pepper's hand. He knew it to the last freckle. But it was not Pepper who was holding out Pepper's hand. He knew that just as firmly.

"What do you say, Adam? Help an old friend out?"

Adam Young took a very deep breath.

The words that were spoken next could not be heard by ordinary human ears. But Dog howled as the voice sawed through his mind, piercing and powerful as a bolt of lightning, and a few birds and squirrels fell from the trees crying out in animal agony. Reality twisted and bent as the voice of the Antichrist resounded through the clearing, with the force of an avalanche and the power to decree _exactly_ how the world would go.

"YOU NEED TO LEAVE PEPPER ALONE RIGHT _NOW_."

Lillith was forced to clamp her hands over Pepper's ears, and Adam still saw blood seeping through his friend's fingers. She opened her mouth in a howl of agony, and it was not Pepper's voice that she screamed with.

When the echoes died down, the demon Lillith looked out at Adam through his best friend's face, and Adam saw hellfire in Pepper's eyes.

Her body twitched convulsively, her face jerked towards the sky and her mouth opened in an unearthly scream. A black _something_ left her mouth in a raging torrent, streaming up into the cloudy, stormy sky.

Then it was gone, and Pepper went limp and fell to her knees. Adam was there before she hit the dirt, however, holding her up. Her face was stark white underneath the freckles, her eyes were closed, and her skin was cold and clammy.

Pepper would live. Pepper would live and she would not remember anything that had passed between two of the most powerful beings in existence. Pepper would wake up with a headache, because there was only so much a thirteen-year old Antichrist could do, but she would wake up. And then they would walk together back to Adam's house, because their television program was going to start at any minute. They would watch the Thanksgiving special and drink hot cocoa and play with Adam's new toys. Brian, Wensley, and Pepper's parents would all come and get their children just before dinner, and his friends would depart for their own homes and their own beds and sleep safely through the night.

So he had said it, so it would be.

Adam hoisted Pepper onto his back. Dog looked around nervously and pawed at Adam's leg. He freed a hand from holding Pepper on his back to scratch his dog behind his strange inside-out ear.

"Good Dog," he said, with a tired smile. "Very good Dog. Let's go home."

Together, the boy and his hellhound trudged away through the woods. Adam was silent. He was silent because he was exercising all his considerable willpower to push the dark tide back. He couldn't face the coming storm as the Antichrist. He would only hasten its arrival. But Adam Young could help. Adam Young knew people. People who seemed all too skilled at warding off such things as the end of the world.

He did not make the call right away. He watched the Thanksgiving special with his friends and drank hot cocoa and played with the Transmogrifier Robots and saw them off at the door when their parents arrived to take them home, because some things were more important even than the end of the world. Only when his father had shut and locked the door for the final time that night did Adam go to the phone and dial the number.

It rang so long that he was afraid he might get the answering machine…and then, blessedly, his call was answered.

_"Hello?"_

"Hello? Is this the angel who runs the bookstore?"

 _"…yes, I suppose it is. Um…may I ask who, in fact,_ I _am speaking to?"_

Adam grinned. "Aw, you remember me, Mr. Aziraphale. And I remember you. And I just heard some stuff I think you and your friend in the Bentley might like to know…"


	2. Aziraphale on Alert

"M-hm…oh. Ah, yes, that would be rather…ah. Yes, yes…well, I suppose she…m-hm…m-hm…m-hm. And you managed to…well, that's good. I do hope she feels…ah. Ah, yes…yes, I'll call him…no, no, there's no need for you to get involved. No need at all…m-hm. Yes, of course. We'll take care of things. You just take care of yourself and your friends…yes, give them my best. Tell them to stay away from sticks and string, would you? Well, then…yes, good-bye."

The angel who ran the bookstore in Soho hung up his phone and looked back at his visitor. He smiled pleasantly. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Everything he just told you," said his visitor coldly. "Who was that, Aziraphale?"

"An old friend."

"Was it that demon? Are you still consorting with that demon?"

"Crowley? Oh, yes, he drops by from time to time. But…no. That wasn't him on the phone, although I'm afraid I don't think you'll like this news any better, however. It turns out that Lillith is on the move. She was just spotted in Lower Tadfield."

A look of mild shock passed across his visitor's face…for an angel, and this angel in particular, that was the equivalent of utter horror. "Lillith?!"

"I'm afraid so."

Castiel's brow furrowed slightly in thought. "If she's the one…"

This last was said softly, almost to himself, and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "If she's the one…what?"

Castiel came immediately out of his reverie. "Nothing. But Lillith is dangerous. We should go after her, before she hurts anyone else."

He meant "anyone else" in the sense of "any more angels." And it was true that angels were dying…not just being inconveniently discorporated, which was the closest Aziraphale had ever come to the experience…but irrevocably _dying_ , which was supposed to be impossible. No one knew what was causing it, although every garrison had their theories and every single angel was feeling an edge of fear, often for the first sighed. "Castiel, according to Adam she fled the area several hours ago. She could be halfway across the world by now, or even getting her breath back down in Hell. Besides, I must confess that I wouldn't want to cross Lillith if Gabriel himself were on my side."

"Raphael _is_ on your side."

"Oh, I know all that. But I also know that he's covering our bases over in New Zealand and even he can't teleport that fast. Let's be sensible, Castiel. I say we let Lillith go her own way for now. We'll both live longer, and I quite like that prospect. Especially if the world's going to end again."

"It _won't_ ," said Castiel flatly. "We will stop it. I know you haven't been back in a long time, Aziraphale, but plans have been put in motion."

"You mean that Hunter you pulled out of Hell?"

Castiel frowned. "How would you…?"

"Crowley. He was down there handling some paperwork that day, and passed the news along. How is he doing, by the way?"

The other angel heaved a sigh. "I…I don't know. He's being…difficult. But I can't tell yet if that's how all humans are or just him."

"He did just spend forty years in Hell. Even we would need some time to straighten ourselves out. But either way, I supposed we need him. Where is he, now?"

"Over in America. He's with his brother, and a friend."

"That's good. Nothing restores balance to the mind like familiar faces." Aziraphale smiled as he reached for a nearby bookcase and gently removed a book. It was in rather better condition than most in Aziraphale's shop. Equally unusual was the fact that it was under a hundred years old. But it was an old favorite of the angel's, and he flipped open to a page he knew by heart.

"How far along are we?" he asked, scanning the page intently.

"The Rise of the Witnesses has already begun."

Aziraphale looked up at Castiel with an expression of mild panic. "Are you sure?! But that's…that's a major milestone! Things must be further along than I thought…"

"Quite a bit of it has localized around Dean and his friends," said Castiel gravely.

"I suppose it would, given their line of work…then what in Heaven's name are you doing over here? Shouldn't you be over there with them? I mean, you were appointed his guardian, after all. The Witnesses are _dangerous_ , Castiel!"

"They'll survive. I know they will."

"I hope you do. Your superiors won't be happy if you let that poor boy get killed just days after your garrison had to march on Hell to get him back."

"Why would you care? You weren't there." There was just the faintest trace of bitterness in Castiel's voice, impossible to detect if you weren't another angel. "The rest of your garrison helped us save him. What did you do to help?"

"Crowley," said the angel again, and Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I asked him to make your way a bit easier down there. From what he told me, he risked quite a lot calling Alistair away from Dean that day."

Castiel snorted. "Demons never do anything for us. Not without their own plans."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Oh, he didn't do it for free. And I wouldn't expect him to."

"What did he want from you?"

"Pay for dinner, polish up his car, and handle the temptations while he was down there. Nothing very serious. I think he had a little fun messing Alistair about, so he didn't push very far."

Aziraphale felt something shift within the room. The bookshop suddenly became shadowy and dim, even though outside it was barely three o'clock. Castiel's expression went stormy, a shadow falling across his face. And, behind him, Aziraphale saw the shadows shifting and twisting, until it looked like his visitor had suddenly sprouted black wings.

"You…" whispered the angel, in a voice that had gone dangerously soft. "…an angel… _the_ angel of the East Gate…shared in the duties of _a demon?_ "

Aziraphale refused to let the display intimidate him. Castiel was an angel, certainly, and he was strong enough to terrify and kill any human being he cared to. But Aziraphale was no human being.

"It would have gotten done eventually," he said coolly. "If I handle it, it saves time for both of us." Putting on the special voice he used when talking to most other angels, he added. "And it was my belief that the gains that would come from rescuing Dean Winchester from Hell would far outweigh my own sins in sharing Crowley's duties."

Like a cloud passing over the sun, there and gone in an instant, the moment of tension ended as suddenly as it had come. The shadows faded, the wings disappeared, and Castiel relaxed. He still looked displeased…but that was not unusual for an angel who spent any amount of time in Aziraphale's company.

"I don't understand you," Castiel said finally. "You choose to live down here, away from your brothers and sisters. You _willingly_ consort with The Serpent, the one responsible for bringing evil into this world. You spend so much time on trivial human pleasures that I sometimes wonder why you haven't surrendered your Grace already."

Aziraphale smiled. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Castiel. No one would. You're young, after all, my dear boy."

Castiel visibly bristled. "I am _not_ young!"

"To me, I'm afraid, you're all too young," said Aziraphale, not unkindly. "Perhaps its just the fact that you still have a lot to learn about how things are nowadays. Thank you for dropping by, Castiel. I'll be sure to investigate the situation to the best of my abilities."

Castiel sensed the dismissal. He nodded curtly at Aziraphale, and then vanished without another word. Aziraphale nodded in satisfaction, then went to the phone he kept behind the counter and dialed Crowley's flat.

"Pick up, pick up, please, Crowley, pick up…ah! Crowley! You're home. Yes, just thought I ought to say I got a call from Castiel…yes, _that_ Castiel …Crowley, that's a horrible thing to say. I also got a call from Adam…you remember Adam, don't you…I thought so. According to the pair of them, it's worse than we thought. Lillith's already on the move, and the Rise of the Witnesses is occurring even as we speak…well, to be fair, the Witnesses sort of got skipped last time. But I just thought I'd let you know that, first of all, Castiel's probably still in the area and he'll probably be paying you a visit… _no_ , Crowley. Much as I dislike the term, he _is_ one of my brothers. Just…just 'discourage' him a bit, would you? And I think we need to meet… _soon_ …to figure out what we're going to do about this…oh, yes, I know the place. They serve excellent roast beef sandwiches. I'll see you there in…oh, about an hour? And it's _your_ turn to pick up the check."


	3. Joining the Battle

Crowley _did_ pick up the check, which was a mark of how strange times were becoming. He'd only been back in Hell for a few days, and Aziraphale could see that he was enjoying himself. His counterpart had been late to lunch because he'd been indulging in the pleasure of breaking the speed limit with his Bentley again.

And now…"

 _"Again,"_ Crowley muttered bitterly, as they waited for their third order of food over the wine. Like most humans, they tended to eat a lot when they were depressed. Unlike most humans, the food didn't have any effect on them if they didn't allow it. " _All over again!_ For Somebody's sake, Aziraphale, you'd think that if God really did spend a week putting this place together then he'd take a bit better care of it!"

"It's not His fault," said Aziraphale, a shade indignantly. "After all, it's _your_ lot trying for Round Two." He frowned a little as he miracled the wine into something digestible and took a sip. "I suppose Last Time wasn't really the…er…"

"'Last Time'? demanded Crowley. "All that hype…waiting eleven damn years on pins and needles…and now they're going to do it all again? Sometimes I hate my side."

"I rather hate your side as well." Aziraphale poured some more wine for Crowley and slid it across the table. "The question remains, of course. What are we going to do about it?"

Crowley gagged on the wine. "'We'?"

Aziraphale frowned. "We have to do _something_ , don't we? If all sixty-six Seals are broken, it will be as if we just handed Adam over to Nanny Astoreth and had done with it!"

"You mean 'Warlock.' Wrong kid, remember."

Aziraphale sighed. "A figure of speech, my dear. You know what I mean. Crowley, we may not be the only ones fighting this time but that doesn't mean we can just sit back and let things happen as they will!"

Their third order finally arrived, and Crowley took advantage of the presence of food to end the conversation for the time being. For a while, all was silent between the two. And Aziraphale was content to wait patiently for Crowley to break it. His opposite number always came around eventually, when the stakes were this high.

True to tradition, Crowley finally heaved a sigh and pushed his plate away. "So what do you suggest, angel?"

Aziraphale smiled. "I had some ideas. Finish up soon, Crowley. I believe we're in for a long couple of days."

* * *

A quick visit to Sergeant Shadwell…who, Aziraphale was quite pleased to see, was getting along quite well with Madam Tracy…was enough to secure a large, if battered, world map. A few days passed, during which Crowley and Aziraphale spent most of their time teleporting to various locales around the world, reporting to various superiors. The two of them met up at the end of the week in the backroom of Aziraphale's bookshop to compare notes.

The first Seal had been broken in America even before Dean had been rescued, but they quickly learned that things on their side of the ocean were already going from bad to worse for both sides. Garrisons of angels were moving as quickly as they could to the nearest Seals before the demons could unlock them. Any garrison that had found an unopened Seal had set up shop over it, the better to prevent the inevitable demon attack. There were still several angels roaming all over the planet…Castiel was one of them…keeping their eyes open for the next Seal and looking for any opportunity to inflict some damage on the demon's ranks. The demons, for their part, were largely mobile and had covered a lot more ground than the angels. Once a Seal had been broken, after all, there was little point in hanging around. There was currently no sign of Alistair, for which Crowley could not shake a feeling of deep seated anxiety. It was always a good idea to be wherever Alistair _wasn't_ , but if you didn't know where he _was…_

At the end of twelve hours of last-minute reconnaissance and comparing notes over the massive world map, Crowley and Aziraphale sat back with a sigh to examine their work. Blue pins marked the presence of angels on guard. Black pins marked last known locations or well-known havens of demons. Red pins marked wherever they knew a Seal had already been uncovered. The result was a multicolored tide, expanding slowly until it looked in danger of covering all of Europe.

"Which I'm afraid it probably will, by the end," said Aziraphale gloomily, sipping his tea. He was so absorbed in examining the map that he forgot to notice that it had gone rancid three days ago. "We'll be in the thick of things whether we want to or not, when all's said and done. What I'm wondering, however, is…" he gestured across the Atlantic Ocean, to the massive bulk of America. A handful of blue pins, a smattering of black pins, and a lone pair of red pin marked the landmass. "I don't know why it's quite so… _clear_ over here. Especially when those two Hunters are on the move right in the middle of things. Americans get all the luck these days."

"They're His golden boys. Even Alistair's going to tread carefully around _that_."

"Yes, but the only angels within any respectable distance are Castiel and Uriel. Tough boys, the pair of them, but…"

 _…but they're certainly nothing special._ Words unsaid, but after six thousand years Aziraphale didn't need to say them. Castiel and Uriel outranked Aziraphale, but that didn't mean a lot.

"What are you suggesting?" was what Crowley said out loud, pretending to examine the map again.

"If we were to perhaps pop over there and set up shop over an unopened Seal…"

Crowley made a face. "To _America_?"

The angel sighed. "I'm afraid so."

" _America?_ You could get a better drink in Heaven!"

"You could use some of the books they write as kindling."

"Didn't you do that once?"

"I'm afraid so."

"The cars they make…"

"I know."

"The _state_ of the place…"

"I know."

"I mean, it's probably fitting that it's going to happen over there. I'm amazed it didn't last time!"

"As was I."

They stared at each other across the table, the angel and the demon, two beings who had walked with the world since the days before the first storm shadowed the gates of Eden. Dark-haired Crowley, sleek as the snake he truly was, his yellow eyes staring at the angel from behind a pair of sunglasses. Aziraphale, who had allowed his body to go plump and middle aged, worn as his favorite camel hair coat with the fair blond hair and clear blue eyes that most humans seemed to associate with his kind.

As one, the pair of them sighed.

"I'll get the Bentley…"

"I'll get the books…"

"See you there in about a week?

"Yes. That sounds lovely."


	4. Long Time, No See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, where the chapters before this took place during or shortly after "Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester", this one takes place following a timeskip of a few months. We are now officially within the time frame of the story itself (post "Heaven and Hell", pre "Sex and Violence")

Humanity was contagious.

That was something Ruby had learned in her few short years inhabiting a human body in the human world. That was true even for those demons who weren't as lucky as she was – even they still often found themselves settling back into the world. When you'd been around on Earth a few years, found yourself a nice body to call your own even if it wasn't with the old owner's consent, you often found yourself…adjusting. Truth be told, Earth was a thousand times more interesting than Hell. There was more to do. More to see.

She wasn't quite certain if the phrase "culture" could be applied to what had developed among those demons who made it out of Hell. It wasn't really a culture. They were just enjoying what the humans had already invented. If it was a culture, it was a parasitic one. Whenever the humans made something else a demon could sink her teeth into while waiting for a new victim to catch her eyes, it was quietly and happily absorbed into the…

…community. That was a good word. There were certainly demon gangs in some of the larger human cities. It made for better protection against Hunters. It gave you people to pass the time with when you had to keep to the shadows. A demon could be herself only around her own kind…

And that was why, late at night in a small town in the middle of Nevada, Ruby was walking up the short drive to a seedy dive known quite fittingly as The Pit. Cars were parked in the driveway…wonderful things, cars. Ruby smiled to herself as she scanned the lines of sports cars and convertibles. Most of them would be ruins by the end of the week, left in a ditch or on the side of the road when their owners tired of them. Ruby could sympathize. There was a rush about stealing such a valuable item and having the power to discard it like trash.

Ruby paused as she approached the door, paused as her eyes fell on a black car parked right up at the front. It looked to be an old fashioned car, but despite that it was immaculate. Curious, she kicked a bit of dirt onto the tires. The particles vanished before even settling on the rubber.

Ruby grinned. That action was enough to identify the car's owner. Humanity was contagious, after all. And the owner of this car had been around long enough to get infected with quite a bit of it.

It was nice to find him on this side of this of the ocean, for a change.

He was easy to spot when she entered the bar. Most demons shed old bodies for new ones fairly often. It kept things interesting, walking around in a new skin. But the owner of the car had worn the same body for coming on six thousand years.

He had a table to himself, already occupied by a small battalion of empty glasses. Fame got you far, even when it came to demons. He was clearly smashed as it was possible to get; that was easy to see even from behind the sunglasses.

Without bothering to announce herself, Ruby pulled up a free chair and sat down in front of him.

"Hey there, Crowley. How's the world been treating you?"

He froze, and the eyes behind the sunglasses took a few seconds to fixate on her.

"Ruby," came the eventual reply. His voice was slurred. "Been a while."

"Too long. But I'm glad you've finally decided to drop by and visit." Ruby fixed him with her most ingratiating smile and waved for another round. "I'd love to know why, though. I always got the impression you've been a Londoner at heart for the last two hundred years."

"I am. But that coyote Alistair's got me jumpin' through hoops, what with the whole sixty-six Seals business." Crowley waved one hand vaguely while the other drained his next glass in one. Ruby wondered if he was even aware of what was in it. "You'd think I'd get some help. Me bein' me, after all. But no…I've had to break four Seals already. All by myself. Just me and Queen. Bein' sent all over the world ev'ry day of the week. One day it's New Zealand, next day it's Czecho…Czecho…y'know, the place, the place Hitler got his mitts on back in the thirties…"

"Czechoslovakia, Crowley," said Ruby pleasantly. "So Alistair's put you back on the job?"

"Uh-huh."

"And you've…" Ruby leaned forward conspiratorially, hoping Crowley wouldn't think to stop being drunk long enough to smell a rat. "…broken four Seals?"

"Yeah."

"I'm impressed."

"You should be. Except…except…" Crowley threw back another shot and slammed the glass back on the table so hard that Ruby felt it shake. "…I didn't!"

"You…didn't break four Seals?"

"I did! Hunted down four blasted Seals and broke every single one of 'em!"

"…why the past tense? I thought that, once a Seal was opened, it had the decency to stay open."

"So did I. Trust that bloody angel to prove me wrong!"

Ruby raised an eyebrow. The conversation had just taken a turn for the interesting. Every demon in hell knew about Crowley's counterpart, Aziraphale. They knew that Crowley had spent most of the last six thousand years fighting for territory against the angel. She lowered her voice even further, barely whispering across the table.

"Are you telling me that the Angel of the Eastern Gate has found a way to re-seal a Seal?"

"Oh, no!" cried Crowley in drunken agitation. "Not 'a'! Plural! Found a way to re-seal the Seals! Ev'rywhere I go, he's a wing beat behind! I barely get the thing open an' he closes it back up!"

Ruby sucked in a breath. "Oh, boy."

Crowley nodded vigorously. "That stupid angel has made my life a living…well, a living Hell, y'know?" he whispered conspiratorially, leaning closer to her. "Alistair's been on my case with anything he can get his hands on!"

She nodded slowly. Aziraphale was just about as well-known as Crowley was, although for very different reasons. Carefully sliding another drink over to him, Ruby leaned in so far that she came out of her chair, until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Crowley…is Aziraphale here? Did Aziraphale come to the states with you?"

Crowley nodded glumly.

Ruby could barely keep the excitement out of her voice. "Crowley…do you know where he is? Is there somewhere I could find him?"

The other demon laughed and leaned back again in his chair. "Hah! You wanna take a few swings at him? Take a bit of advice, Ruby. 'f I were you, I'd steal one of those cars in the lot and drive in the other direction. Y'look at him, and…and you just see a bookstore owner, y'know! But he hasn't lost all his tricks, that stupid angel…"

Ruby smiled. "I can take care of myself. Where is he, Crowley?"

As it turned out, Aziraphale had rearranged reality so that, rather than existing in Soho, his bookshop was in fact now located up in an equally small town up in Washington. He wasn't often there, of course, being too busy thwarting Crowley to hang around much. Crowley took great care in warning her that the last few batches of demons to try and discorporate Aziraphale had been eliminated without the angel breaking so much as a sweat. Ruby only smiled and nodded, trusting to the fact that Crowley was so drunk that his body was bound to give out within the hour.

Just in case, however, she placed some more money on the table before getting to her feet. "Thanks for the company, Crawly. Glad to see you in the neighborhood. I think the States will treat you right once you get over the culture shock."

She left him there, with her own drink still unfinished, and hurried out into the night with their conversation still buzzing in her mind. Sam and Dean weren't far away, and she got the feeling that even Dean would jump to hear this bit of news…


	5. What Ruby Told Dean

It was a mark of how times had changed that, when Dean answered her frantic knocking, he did not slam the door in her face. They nodded at each other.

"Ruby."

"Dean."

"It's really late, you know."

"I know. This is big, Dean. Trust me."

"Big enough that it can't wait a few hours? Sam's been tired lately."

"He's got every right to be." Ruby bit her lip. "You don't have to go right now. I'd be happy to let you sleep, except…you need to know. I can't risk missing the chance to pass this along. You can do whatever the hell you want with this info, but you need to know."

Dean nodded in apparent satisfaction at her answer, before stepping outside and closing the door softly behind him. He leaned against it, folded his arms, and regarded her.

"I'm listening," he said.

"You've just gotta promise me that you'll tell Sam about this." As he opened his mouth, she hurried on. "And before I even start… _yeah_ , this is gonna sound about as phony as a three dollar bill! But I _swear_ , I'm on the level! If you wanna check my story, I can give you directions myself, but this is _game changing_ , and…"

"Ruby."

Ruby paused. Dean's voice was…not unkind. That in and of itself was strange enough, but then he actually smiled tiredly at her. Ever since she'd helped them save Anna…had placed herself in Alastair's clutches to save Anna…he'd trusted her. He didn't _like_ her. Probably never would. But he trusted her. She found herself still getting used to the idea. Because that was…big. And sort of…nice.

"I get it," he said. "I'm listening. I'll tell Sam as soon as he gets his ass out of bed in the morning. Just talk."

Times had really changed. And she supposed that it was only natural that they'd changed along with them.

With a sigh, she leaned against the wall beside him. "How up are you on the Bible?"

Dean shrugged. "Eve eats the wrong fruit, Devil hates our guts, thou shalt not suffer a witch to live, Judas is a bastard, Jesus' girlfriend finds out he's walking around a few days after he died on a cross. All the basics. I'm pretty sure Sam can recite half of it verbatim, but it was never my favorite read."

Ruby grinned. "Ah. I was hoping you'd bring up Eve. Good. That'll cut down on the chatting." Then, taking a deep breath, she recited from a verse most demons knew by heart. "'So the Lord God said to the serpent, "Because you have done this, cursed are you above all the livestock and all the wild animals! You will crawl on your belly and you will eat dust all the days of your life.'"

"Holy photographic memory, Batman."

"If you couldn't recite half the Bible verbatim back when I was human, you were in pretty imminent danger of being burned as a witch. I learned _damn_ quick." Ruby smiled, a touch of nostalgia in her voice. "The Serpent. He was the first demon to ever walk the earth. He's the one who can take credit for bringing sin into the world."

"You're talking like he's real."

"He is. Matter of fact, I just bought him a round down at The Pit.

Dean's jaw actually dropped. Ruby let her smile widen slightly. "I _warned_ you," she pointed out.

He shut his mouth, blinked…and then, slowly nodded. Just once. "Yeah," he finally said cautiously. "Yeah. You did. I can't deny that. But lemme get this straight. You bought a _snake_ … _the_ snake, if I'm catching your drift…a round? At a place called 'The Pit'?"

"You'd be amazed what you can get out of a guy if they're drunk enough," said Ruby. Then, remembering some of the Winchester's past exploits, she amended. "Okay, you two probably wouldn't, but demons _talk_ at demon hangouts. Even to me. I was going to drop by and see if anything weird was in the area that you guys might need a heads-up on. Maybe a Seal, if our luck actually sucked that bad. It usually does. And then I found him there getting drunk."

Dean suddenly smirked. Ruby raised an eyebrow. "…something funny?" she asked

"Well, yeah." He grinned. "I've seen a lot of weird things on the road, but the thought of a snake getting soused is still pretty high up there."

She sighed in irritation. "Crowley's…sort of like Hell's field agent. He's pretty much the only demon in existence who's up here by default. Who's _supposed_ to be here, not there. He's been doing Hell's dirty work for the last six thousand years. It'd be kinda hard to tempt you guys into damnation if he actually _looked_ like a snake."

"Ah. So, was he the first one to figure out how to hijack a body?"

Dean's voice was light as he posed the question and his face was carefully placid, but Ruby could hear the tension clanging beneath. Body hopping was apparently a touchy issue for him. He and Sam had gone to the trouble of getting the protective tattoos, and she'd met Meg down in Hell.

She shook her head. "No. Crowley was the first and, unless I'm very wrong, only demon to get a body of his very own. Hell, the guy was _never_ human, so I don't think an actual body would live long with him at the reins. There weren't enough humans around when he first came here for him to steal one without it being missed. I mean, we're talking pre Cain and Abel. Once you guys started breeding like rabbits they decided it'd cut down on overhead if we just borrowed someone instead of getting tied down."

Dean nodded curtly, but she could see that her words mollified him somewhat. "And what'd you managed to get out of Mr. Crowley?"

"After God expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden…" When Dean rolled his eyes, Ruby glared at him. "Hey! I need to fill in the gaps, here. You need to get this."

Dean held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm listening."

Ruby sighed in irritation, but continued on. "After God expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden, he put an angel at the Eastern Gate to keep them from coming back. Crowley was the first demon to ever walk the Earth. Aziraphale was the first angel, and they've been here ever since. Fighting tooth and nail the entire damn time. This whole mess with the Seals has turned into their latest conflict. According to Crowley, Alastair's got him breaking Seals left, right, and center. Four under his belt since he got back from Hell."

Dean sighed. "Great. Ruby, I'm failing to see how this is game changing, unless by 'game changing', you mean 'we're even more screwed than we thought.' _Four_ Seals?! Why didn't we hear about this?"

Ruby grinned. "That's the good bit. That's what made it worth the trip. The tally hasn't changed. Crowley opened four Seals. Aziraphale locked them back up."

Dean's jaw dropped again. Ruby found herself grinning even wider. "Pretty damn 'game changing', huh?"

Again, Dean closed his mouth. Again, he nodded slowly. Just once. Then, his voice a little hoarse, he said, "Yeah. Yeah, that's…that's big, Ruby. That's pretty damn huge." Then he swallowed and, suddenly looking more like himself, added, "If it's true, of course."

Ruby shrugged. "I've got the address. I can't guarantee he'll be around, but according to Crowley he's never away from the store for long."

"Store?"

"Bookstore. Secondhand." At the expression on Dean's face, Ruby shrugged. "Six thousand years up here will make anybody go native."

"I guess it would." He pushed himself away from the door and stretched, before looking at her and smiling again. "…thanks, Ruby."

She grinned at him, a little teasingly. "I could get used to hearing that from you. It's kinda nice."

" _Don't_ ," he advised her, before making to open the door. He took just a few steps inside, however, before pausing and glancing back at her. "Um…"

Ruby shook her head, and straightened up. "I'm covered, Dean. It's fine."

"Aren't you coming with us?"

"Are you kidding me? I hate tangling with Cas and his attack dog. No _way_ I'm going near Aziraphale." Ruby rummaged inside her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper that she passed to Dean. "Here's the address. It's a few days from here, but if you leave in the morning…"

"We'll do that." Dean took the paper from her. "Have a good night, Ruby."

"You too, Dean. Tell Sam I dropped by, would you?"

"…yeah. I will."

He closed the door, and she heard him lock it. Ruby smiled at the place where he had been, before turning and striding away across the parking lot.


	6. Angels in the Bookshop

It was a long way from Nevada to Washington, but Sam agreed with Dean once his brother had passed the news along that they could not pass this tip up. And so, the next morning, the two brothers packed their things, loaded up the Impala, and headed north.

Sam, of course, trusted Ruby's information. Dean had to admit that the demon had yet to actually _lie_ to them. Her tips tended to get them into deep, dangerous trouble but that was nothing new and it wasn't actually her fault. Dean still wished he had someone to check her facts against, but neither Castiel nor Uriel had put in an appearance since their attack on Anna. And as for Anna herself…

Dean shook his head to dislodge the wayward thought.

And so, with the sun barely risen over the horizon, the Impala could be seen doing seventy down the interstate. Dean was driving, but had consented to leave the music off for the time being so Sam could do some mobile research.

"Here we go. Genesis Twenty One. 'So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life.'"

"All for eating a piece of stinkin' fruit?"

"Well, he was pretty specific…"

"Exactly! Sammy, if somebody locked you in a room with every kind of food you'd ever wanna get your hands on, but told you 'don't eat the Oreos'…what would be the first food you'd go for?"

"…anything but the Oreos."

Dean glanced away from the road to glower at his brother. "Wuss. A _normal_ human being would go straight for 'em! Why the hell did God give us free will if the first thing he's gonna do is punish us for making a choice?!"

"Because they made the _wrong_ choice."

"Well, why not put the tree on a huge frickin' _mountain_ , then? If God made the whole frickin' planet in a week, I don't think a mountain would be much of a problem."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe he wasn't expecting Crowley to come into the picture."

"He's _God!_ He's supposed to expect _everything!_ "

Sam only shrugged again. Dean rolled his eyes. "This is total bull," he said grimly.

"Maybe, maybe not. And if it's not…Ruby's right, Dean. This could change _everything_."

Dean made a face…but couldn't deny that. If they could lock up the Seals again, then their chances of surviving things would probably got into double digits. Keeping a lid on things would be immeasurably easier. Just for that, this trip was worth it.

* * *

It was Saturday when they arrived in the town Ruby had directed them to. Even once they'd pulled into the town's border, they spent another fifteen minutes cruising around while Sam examined Ruby's directions. It seemed that Aziraphale had put his bookshop in the most remote, out-of-the-way corner of town he could find. But finally, they pulled the car to a halt in front of one of the most dilapidated buildings the two Winchesters had ever seen in their career…and that was saying quite a bit.

"Fire hazard waiting to happen," said Sam thoughtfully, as the two of them got out of the car. To the casual observer, they were unarmed…but Dean had Ruby's knife stowed in his waistband, hidden from view by his jacket.

"If it comes to that," said Dean simply. Together, they approached the front door and knocked.

Someone heard them. A voice called "Just a moment!", and a few seconds later the door was opened by a middle aged man with fair blond hair. He smiled pleasantly at the two boys, looking first at one and then at the other. Dean suddenly got the strange impression, however, that it wasn't so much a "look" as an "x-ray", and he glanced a little nervously at Sam to see if his brother had gotten the same impression.

Judging by the slightly uneasy expression on his little brother's face, Dean had to conclude that he had. But Sam pressed on gamely nonetheless. He held out his hand. "Mr. Aziraphale? I'm Sam, and this is my brother…"

"Of course, of course," said Aziraphale brusquely, waving a hand dismissively. "A friend of mine told me the two of you would be coming. Come in, please."

He ushered them rather insistently inside the shop. Sam and Dean exchanged another look as Aziraphale shut the door behind them.

"We were told that…" Sam tried again.

"Of course, of course," said Aziraphale, cutting Sam off again. "Believe me, my boy, I know why you've come. In here, please."

He shunted them around the store counter and into a back room that was, if possible, even more dusty and dilapidated than the front. Sam and Dean took a few steps inside, gazing around for any sign of spell work, any sign that they had come to the right place. Aziraphale quietly closed the door behind them…

Dean didn't know what made him turn around. Perhaps it was the rush of air, perhaps it was the realization that he'd let an unknown entity get behind them, perhaps it was simply an instinctive reaction to danger born of his years as a Hunter. But the elder Winchester turned around just in time to see Aziraphale grab a sword from behind the door and ready it to stab.


	7. On the Ropes and On the Same Page

He shoved Sam out of the way and twisted away as the angel…and it was an angel, it had to be, nothing else could move that fast…lunged at them.

Sam stumbled a bit, but kept his feet. Dean pulled out Ruby's knife as Aziraphale turned towards Sam, bringing the sword up to chop down. He leapt at the angel, and managed to stab the blade into his chest and jerk it free. Aziraphale jerked and dropped the sword. It landed harmlessly beside Sam just as his little brother steadied himself on his feet, enough to draw back a fist and punch Aziraphale as hard as he could across the face. Aziraphale stumbled, but recovered inhumanly fast. As Dean charged in with the knife again, Aziraphale ducked his strike, spun round, and kicked Dean so hard in the chest that he was knocked backwards and crashed painfully into a bookshelf. Ancient tomes rained down around him as Aziraphale dodged Sam's next blow and grabbed the sword from off the dusty floor.

"Sam!" Dean yelled desperately, surging back to his feet. Sam only had eyes for the sword. Dean could not blame him because the blade was suddenly on fire, burning as cheerfully as a bar of magnesium.

Sam went right. Aziraphale went left. The sword scythed through the air. Sam managed to duck and got away with nothing but a torn jacket. His opponent took a chunk out of the floor on the backswing, and whirled to keep Sam in his sights.

Several things suddenly happened in very quick succession.

As Dean charged forward at the angel and brought the knife around, this time ready to plunge it into the back of his neck and maybe just stop the angel from moving, from stabbing his little brother…a new figure appeared out of nowhere and caught the blade on one arm.

Dean stared wildly into the deep blue eyes of Castiel, before Uriel blinked into existence behind him, grabbed him by the arm, and twisted it behind his back.

The front door banged open and two sets of footsteps hurrying inside. Someone cried out, "Aziraphale, stop!"

As he was held immovably in place by the other angel, Dean saw around Castiel as Aziraphale finished backing Sam into the wall. His brother tried to move away, but it was too late. Aziraphale stabbed out, and his little brother cried out in pain as it dug into his side, as the flames still clinging to the blade burned his blood.

The two who had rushed in from outside skidded into the room. Dean saw Ruby, and another man he did not recognize, dark-haired and wearing sunglasses. The man stared from Castiel, to himself, and finally to where Aziraphale was only just pulling his sword away as Sam collapsed heavily to the ground. The blond angel raised his sword again, and Dean renewed his struggles against Uriel because he knew that these angels all meant to see his brother die. Sunglasses moved towards Aziraphale in a blur, grabbing his sword arm and yanking it away from Sammy.

"Aziraphale!" he cried, as the angel tried to wrench his arm free. "Aziraphale! Would you look who you're killing, you stupid angel?!"

Aziraphale stopped struggling. He seemed to have recognized the voice and, as he tilted his head to look up at the man, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Crowley?" he asked. The sword let out a clatter as it was dropped carelessly on the floor. "Hello. What brings you back here?"

"What brings me back here is you're busy trying to kill the wrong blessed people!" Crowley gestured wildly at Ruby. "That is Ruby. Ruby. Ruby who is a girl and has a girl's name. That…" he pointed at Sam. "…is Sam Winchester, brother of Dean Winchester, for whom I got eviscerated several times and for whom three garrisons took on Alistair."

"…oh."

Aziraphale looked from Crowley…to Sam…to Castiel…to Uriel…and finally to Dean, who couldn't hold himself back any longer and finally snapped at the room at large. "Would you get your mitts off of me?! Sam! Sammy! You still with me?!"

Sam was. The wound couldn't have been as bad as it looked, but it had looked terrible in the first place. He'd managed to get his jacket most of the way off and was trying to apply pressure to the wound. His face was contorted in the all-too-familiar expression of one trying to work around a good deal of pain, but he was conscious and that was important.

"'m fine…" Sam mumbled. "I'm…fine. Gah." He looked up at Aziraphale. "I think you…actually cauterized my side…"

Aziraphale smiled pleasantly down at Sam. "Very sorry about that." He knelt down and took Sam's arm. "I'm afraid there was an error in communication. I thought you were a demon. You certainly looked like one at first glance"

Without warning, he heaved Sam to his feet without regard for Sam's considerable size or for his forcibly cauterized gut wound. Dean felt his muscles stiffen as Sam let out another gasp of pain…but, as Aziraphale left him to take his own weight, his brother was suddenly able to stand on his own two feet. When Sam twisted to look down at his injured side, both brothers saw that the injury had healed over without so much as a scar.

Sam seemed justifiably amazed, and he looked up at Aziraphale with wide eyes. "…thank you."

"The least I could do," said Aziraphale, nodding pleasantly at Sam. "I'm deeply sorry about that, my boy. I'm afraid all three of us were victims of a rather large miscommunication." He cast Crowley a stern look. Crowley only shrugged.

"I passed the news on," he grumbled. "Ruby dropped by. I gave her your address. I called and told you to get ready for visitors."

"And when these two young men knocked at the door a few days later, I logically presumed…"

Crowley smirked. "Logically? Angel, I know you and your lot are a bit dim in that department, but there is no way in anywhere that that…" he gestured at Sam. "…is a Ruby."

"He is a demon."

"He's one of Azazel's, angel!"

"Oh." Aziraphale looked startled, then abashed. "Oh. Dear. I thought they'd all died. No wonder I couldn't get a proper fix on him. I just assumed it was the presence of that boy there." He gestured vaguely at Dean.

Ruby blinked, something seeming to occur to her. She rounded on Crowley. "Wait a sec?! You knew he was gonna fry me?!"

Aziraphale sighed, and looked back at Sam. "Sorry about all of this," he said again. Then the angel blinked, and looked at Castiel and Uriel as if he'd only just remembered their presence. At the sight of Uriel still holding Dean, a frown creased his face. "Uriel, for heaven's sake, let the boy down. He's done nothing wrong except be rather justifiably surprised."

Dean winced as the blood flow suddenly returned to his arms. Straightening up, he shot Uriel the filthiest look he could muster before crossing the room to rejoin Sam.

"You okay?" he asked.

"…yeah." Both Winchesters stared at the formerly bleeding hole in Sam's side, to find that it had healed over flawlessly. "Least he was nice enough to un-stab me, I guess."

"Crawly," said Uriel. He cast a glance at Crowley that silently ranked him slightly lower than pond scum, and Crowley visibly bristled under his gaze. "Aziraphale. I think you owe Castiel and I an explanation. It seems to me that you have been deceiving us, my brother."

"It's Crowley, Uriel," said Aziraphale coolly.

"A serpent may shed its skin a thousand times, and yet it may never rise lower than the dust on the road," Uriel replied.

Castiel held up a hand as Aziraphale's frown deepened. "Uriel. Let him speak." He leveled a cold glance at Aziraphale. "The least we owe him now is to let him account for his actions. The least you owe us, Aziraphale, is an explanation for your crimes."

"Everyone wins, then?" asked Aziraphale, still looking rather displeased at the presence of the two angels. "You let me confess, and I owe you a confession?"

"Somebody's been taking lessons from Downstairs," muttered Crowley.

But as Uriel and Castiel looked steadily more murderous, Aziraphale and Crowley seemed to surrender. Claiming the small table that was one of the few furnishings in the room, the explanations began.

* * *

As far as Heaven was concerned, Aziraphale had been off the radar for months now. His garrison hadn't heard anything from him and most of the angels seemed to be under the impression that Aziraphale had been covering his tracks…the strange thing, to Sam and Dean, was that they didn't seem to care. From what could be seen in Castiel and Uriel's attitude towards the other angel, that was nothing new and nothing unexpected. Aziraphale hadn't said a word to Heaven since what Castiel would only call "the last time." Castiel didn't seem to surprised to hear the rumor that Aziraphale had figured out a way to re-seal the Seals. He seemed even less surprised at the knowledge that he would hide this knowledge from the rest of Heaven. Both angels seemed to regard Aziraphale as they would a wayward and rebellious brother…although, as far as Dean was concerned, he had never seen a frumpier individual in his short life.

Ruby's side of the story (Uriel lost interest in the proceedings about ten seconds after she started speaking and phased out, leaving Castiel to handle things) was that Crowley was one of Hell's most talented field agents. He had walked the world for six thousand years, tempting humans into sin and damnation and paving the way to Hell infinitely better than any good intention. It was only logical that Alistair would put him to work breaking Seals. And it was only logical that Aziraphale would come to stop him. Ruby spoke with more than a little awe in her voice as she described their conflicts across centuries, across millennia. Of course she'd believed Crowley's story. Not believing in him was, to the average demon, like not believing in Elvis. Sam found himself glowering just a little when he heard the admiration in Ruby's voice. There was a history there that was not in the books.

The beliefs of both angels and demons regarding the two beings were dead wrong, however. Over the next hour or so, Crowley and Aziraphale filled in the gaps to two angry angels, one indignant demon, and two eagerly listening Hunters.

The most important bit of information revealed by the two beings came as a shock to everyone in the room – Aziraphale did not know how to close a Seal back up. He had been looking ("…it's just a matter of finding the right book, you see, and I've been looking quite hard…") but had so far been unsuccessful. The rumor had been concocted by Crowley and Aziraphale themselves, shortly before they'd come to America, and had been an integral part of the real plan. Crowley had been wandering alone across the states, visiting demonic haunts he would never have gone near under normal circumstances, and spreading the rumor as far and wide as he could. Most demons who heard the news had come to him, eager for the angel's whereabouts and the chance for the glory that would come with somehow killing him. The knowledge that angels had already been killed only served to bolster them. Crowley had happily told them what they wanted to know. In the last few months, nearly a hundred demons had come to Aziraphale's bookshop, looking to kill the angel of the Eastern Gate before he could tell what he knew to Heaven.

Not a single one had left the bookshop alive.

And, as the tale was told, Dean realized something else. Something that no one said out loud, but that everyone knew by the end. Dean realized that Crowley and Aziraphale were not enemies. In fact, as they watched the two of them sit together, seamlessly switching the role of storyteller back and forth, completely at ease in one another's presence…they realized that the two of them were friends.

Dean, personally, thought they'd come up with a good plan. Neither the angel nor the demon seemed to be entirely comfortable getting into the fight on their own side…especially after the mysterious "last time." However, they both wanted to help save the world. It was a strange sort of compromise. They weren't breaking or defending the Seals, but they were staying out of the way of beings who would kill them given half a chance while inflicting some pretty impressive casualties on the demonic population.

The other supernatural beings in the room, however, didn't seem to share his sentiments. Ruby was pissed off because Crowley had sent her to be fricasseed by Aziraphale. Castiel was pissed off because Aziraphale could sit with Crowley and apparently enjoy his company. And Dean – along with Sam, if he was reading his brother right – had to admit that he was more than a little pissed off because this meant that they'd traveled across several states and blown about a couple hundred bucks of gas along with a helluva lot of hope on nothing.

"It's not as though I haven't been looking," said Aziraphale wretchedly. "I have. I truly have. The only times I'm ever not here nowadays are to hunt down some new book."

"That's nothing new," said Crowley, sounding bored. "But we've covered half the country since coming here and he hasn't found a thing…" He grinned. "And Aziraphale's like a bloodhound when it comes to ink, paper, and mold."

Castiel pushed himself away from the wall and seemed to be preparing to leave. "This was a waste of time. Aziraphale, I should inform Gabriel of your actions. You deserve to be punished after all you've done. You've lied to your brothers and sisters, been tempted to sin by the Serpent…"

Crowley snorted. "Please. The last thing I tempted him to do was skip out on a bar tab." He cast a sidelong glance at Aziraphale. "I don't know how you stand guys like that, angel. He doesn't just have a stick up his ass, he's got a whole tree branch!"

Aziraphale flushed. "Crowley…"

That seemed to be it for Castiel. Still looking rather murderous for an angel, he blinked out of existence, leaving only two demons, one angel, and two humans inhabiting the backroom of the bookshop.

"Now look what you've done," said Aziraphale indignantly. "You've offended him. I like Castiel, Crowley."

Crowley snickered. "I've offended him?" He pushed himself away from the table. "Well, now that the cat's torn up the house plants, I'm in the mood for a drink. Hey, angel. Dinner?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "No thank you, Crowley."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Aziraphale! For his sake, Castiel is a…"

Aziraphale's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No…thank…you, Crowley."

"And Uriel in particular…"

Aziraphale looked up at the demon, and everyone something inhuman flash through his eyes. Crowley flinched back…

"Fine," he said sullenly. "I suppose I'll see you later." As he walked towards the door, he glanced back at Ruby. "Ruby? There's a place a few blocks away. On me?"

Ruby smiled, but fell into step beside Crowley and allowed him to slip an arm around her shoulders. "I believe its only 'on you' if you pay. Sam, I'll be around. Be sure to call me if anything comes up."

The two demons waved absently over their shoulders as the shop door shut behind them. Dean glanced sideways at his brother.

"Sam," he finally said, after an awkward minute had passed. "If you're not careful your face'll stick that way, and you're already pretty damn funny looking."

Sam sighed. "Right. Sorry." He glanced back at Aziraphale. "Mr. Aziraphale? I think we'll go ahead and leave now. Sorry to bother you."

Leave it to his brother to apologize for getting attacked, but Aziraphale seemed to appreciate the sentiment. He smiled at the two brothers and stood up to shake Sam's hand. "No bother at all. I'm sorry again for what happened, and I'll be sure to let you know if anything comes up."

"We'd appreciate that."

Aziraphale nodded, then glanced over Sam's shoulder at Dean. "And best of luck to you in particular, Dean. Castiel's already told me quite a lot about what you'll be facing. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd throw a few miracles your way, but…" He shrugged apologetically. "Gabriel's been 'on my case' quite a lot lately and I'm trying to keep out of his way."

Dean laughed. "That's fine. If Cas has been telling the truth, we've got God on our side. I think we're covered. C'mon, Sam. Let's see if this town's big enough for a motel."


	8. Beck and Call

It was. The boys found a small motel a good distance away from Aziraphale's bookshop and settled in the for the night. They placed a quick call to Bobby to let him know that yes, the lead was fake, and Sam was quick enough to hang up before the implied "I-told-you-so's" reached them through several states of phone line.

Dean was…quiet. Sam kept a careful eye on his brother as they went through the motions of packing away for the night. They ran inventory and put up protective wards, and Sam spent the following hour or so searching the internet for any sign of anything remotely supernatural in the small town.

"What the hell do you think you're gonna find, Sam?" Dean finally asked. "This town's got its own _personal_ angel. One who actually seems to give a damn about what happens to the schmucks all over the place."

"Better safe than sorry, Dean," said Sam, without bothering to look away from the monitor. There was no real rancor in Dean's voice – the argument was probably more to break the silence than anything else. If his brother were truly upset about something, there would already be a bottle of some sort of toxic alcohol opened and half-drained. In fact, Dean seemed remarkably…mellow, at least compared to how he'd been lately.

This theory was reinforced when the elder Winchester let out a yawn. "Why bother?" he asked, but his voice was bland. "We always seem to end up both."

Sam glanced back at his brother. "…are you okay, Dean? You seem kind of…out of it."

Dean rolled into a sitting position – he'd been laying in bed for the last hour, mooching off of Sam's IPod – and actually smiled. "I'm fine, Sammy. I mean…well, I've been worse. For once, it looks like we just blew a bunch of gas and mileage on a false lead."

That was a rare occurrence indeed, Sam had to admit. He allowed himself to consider the idea that Dean was actually being honest, and found that he could do so with a straight face. "Yeah. Looks like. But, Dean…"

"Yeah?"

"Find some damn wood and knock on it, would you?"

Dean grinned, reached over to the dresser that lay between the two beds, and rapped it twice with his knuckles. "Feel better?"

"Yes."

"Good. Listen, instead of frying your eyes, how 'bout you go grab us some food? Nearly gettin' mauled by an angel's pretty tiring work."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but got to his feet. "Wasn't _I_ the one who got stabbed?"

"Yeah, but you got all patched up while _I_ lost circulation for a good five minutes thanks to Uriel. I win. Go get food. Bring back pie."

Sam smiled wryly. "Fine. Lazy."

"Sasquatch." Dean fired the insult back easily and flopped back down on the bed. He yawned again. "Wake me when you get back."

"Sure thing."

"And tell the hellbitch I said 'hi'."

"Dean, I am not going to spy on Ruby."

Dean smiled blandly up at his brother. "If you say so, Sammy."

Sam grimaced, but he either did not feel like arguing or couldn't think of anything to say to Dean's silent accusations. He left the motel room with a wave over his shoulder.

Dean waited. He waited until he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine firing into life. He waited until he heard the crunch of gravel as it started to move and the sound of wheels on asphalt as it sped away.

Then…and only then…did he roll himself into a sitting position, the expression on his face suddenly thunderous.

"Castiel, you son of a bitch. Get your ass in here _right now_."

He waited. He waited for the familiar faint fluttering sound that sometimes announced Castiel's arrival. He scanned the room, waiting for the angel to appear out of thin air like he always did.

When Dean spoke next, he was suddenly shouting. The control he'd shown for Sam snapped like a twig. He yelled for the angel, so loud that his throat tore, his voice echoing around the shabby motel room. He pushed himself to his feet and shouted to the empty air.

"Cas! I know you can hear me, dammit! I am mad as hell and I am not going to take it anymore! Quite jerking my damn chain and _get in here!"_

He waited another few seconds, panting to get his breath. Still, no sound of wings. Dean opened his mouth to scream this time…

"I hope you don't think I'll make a habit of appearing at your beck and call."

Dean started in surprise, and whirled towards the sound of the voice. Sure enough, Castiel had appeared on the room's other bed. He sat there, cool as ice, staring politely at Dean for all the world as though he'd been there the whole time.

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath and sat back down heavily on the bed. "Yeah. Yeah, _fine_. That's _fine_. I'm glad you decided to grace me with your presence, because I wasn't kidding, Cas. I am sick and tired of only knowing the situation on a need to know basis. I _need to know_ everything!"

Castiel frowned…well, frowned even further. "I do not understand your anger. You know the situation as well as I do. You know how grave things have become."

Dean Winchester was practically shaking with anger now.

"No. No, apparently I don't. Why the hell didn't you tell me that there was a goddamn _'last time'_?!"

* * *

_You've got to be kidding me._

Sam had not gone out that night intending to stalk Ruby. He'd toyed with the idea, but the instant he'd realized that Dean saw right through him he'd resolved to get the food and get back to the room as quickly as possible, just to prove his brother wrong.

So he told himself that it was only sheer dumb luck that he found her mulling over a meal at the one place in town that, according to Aziraphale, made halfway decent pie.

Sam sat in the car, staring moodily at the table by the window currently occupied by Ruby. She was picking at her food, staring absently around her. Crowley was nowhere to be seen. That was both confusing and…in the deepest darkest part of his soul…a little nice.

Sam realized where his thoughts were going, and shook his head to clear it. Not the time. Not the place. Dean had sent him out to get dinner, and that was all he was going to do. If Ruby wanted to spend the night with some demon in sunglasses and an ancient car, that was her own business.

 _Keep telling yourself that_ , he thought bitterly as he got out of the car.

As it turned out, however…Ruby herself had other ideas. He had barely turned away from the cashier's desk, dinner in a paper bag held in both hands, before he found her standing off to the side of the line, smiling at him.

"Hey," she said. "Can I get a ride?"

Sam made a face. "What?"

"You. Car. Me. Ride." Ruby tilted her head. "What do you say?"

"What about Crowley?"

Ruby made a face. "Business call. Another demon's blown into town and needed directions to the bookshop. Not the brightest bulb in the room, from what I saw. And I suddenly remembered…I don't like being the second choice." She slipped an arm through his. "C'mon, it's not far. I'll even let you pick the music."

_Tempting offer…_

Sam nodded. "Sure. Long as its not far. Dean's been really tight about gas money lately."

Together, the two of them exited the restaurant and made a beeline for the Impala.


	9. Explanations, Explanations, Explanations

Crowley had to admit that Hastur had gotten smarter. Of course, given that the Duke had begun his existence with an intelligence approximately comparable to that of a dead limpet, he'd really had nowhere to go but up. But before "last time", Hastur would never have worked so carefully to get Crowley out of sight of innocent bystanders before beating the blessed crap out of him.

Crowley would have been impressed, if he hadn't been in so much pain.

 _Holy water, holy water…_ he thought blearily, as Hastur grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him into the back wall of the restaurant. _…my Bentley's left hub cab for some holy water…_

"I've been waitin' a long time for this, Crawly…" the larger demon hissed. "Below was gonna let you off the hook…they said this could be your 'saving grace.'" A true half-wit, Hastur laughed at his own joke. "You know what I think?"

Hastur hit him across the face, and Crowley felt his sunglasses fly off of his face and spin away into the darkness. He shook his head to clear away the ringing in his ears, as he suddenly saw the world without their familiar black tint.

The _last_ thing he wanted to see without his sunglasses in the way was Hastur. The Duke of Hell was still grinning happily. Hastur was _old school_. Happiness for him was directly proportional to the misery of whoever was nearest.

Six bloody inches was pretty damn _near_.

"I think you're nothing but a snake," Hastur growled through fangs. "You've betrayed the angels, you've betrayed the humans…and I don't care what They say, you betrayed _us_. You've done it before, and you'll do it again. A snake can't shed its skin."

Crowley actually laughed, although it emerged more as a hiss. If anyone ever needed concrete evidence that there was no real difference between Heaven and Hell beyond titles and job descriptions, you needed to look no further than Hastur and Uriel. Did nobody pick up a book anymore?

_Nobody except Aziraphale._

Hastur was looking off-put. Hastur _was_ old school, and in his fourteenth century mind no one should _laugh_ when they were getting the tar beaten out of them. Crowley smiled wanly up at the other demon. Good old Hastur. He might be sneaky, but he was still as reliably _dumb_ as always.

"Are you really that ssstupid?" he demanded. Oh, bless it, he was starting to hiss. But Hastur could pack a _whallop_ when he wanted to – and, when it came to Crowley, Hastur _always_ wanted to. "I'm official thisss time! I'm on the job, and for once it'ssss not _your's_. Sssssealssss, Hastur! Another few dozen more and it'll be like last time never happened!"

Hastur released him, but only to clench both his hands together and bring them smashing down on top of Crowley's head. His vision went briefly white. Demons like Hastur were precisely why, given a choice, Crowley always preferred to deal than to fight. If only he could get Hastur to stop _hitting_ him long enough to deal…

Fortunately, the Duke seemed to have had his fill for the minute. He backed away a few steps, massaging his hand. Crowley slid down to the ground, massaging the top of his head and devoting a little of his power to regrowing his lost teeth. Once he'd pulled himself together, Crowley scowled up at Hastur, trying to lock as much power as he could behind the expression. It had been a painful five minutes, but at least now Hastur was giving him time to catch his breath.

Bluffing had saved him once…

"I'd sstop right there if I were you, Hassstur," he hissed. "I'm on _Alistair's_ clock, now. Y'know _Alistair_ , dont'cha Hastur? It wasn't Torquemada who kicked off the Inquisition, Alistair was jussst _bored_. What have you done to bring The End around again, hm? I've opened _four_ Sealsss, me. Done my bit for the sssside. Alistair won't want you t'hurt _me_."

He was counting on the mention of Alistair the throw Hastur off again. Hastur was a Duke of Hell, but Alistair was…"special." Alistair was a world apart from Crowley and Hastur. Alistair was…well, Alistair had the kind of notoriety Crowley might _hope_ to achieve in Hell if the world could manage to continue existing for another six thousand years. Even _Hastur_ would have to pause at the mention of Alistair.

But then a voice…a frighteningly familiar voice…spoke from out of the shadows.

"Not quite so, Crowley…"

Crowley froze. Hastur's evil grinned widened and became several degrees more evil as Alistair stepped into view.

He wasn't wearing the same body he'd worn back when he and Crowley had last "chatted", but that didn't matter. Demons could spot other demons a mile away, especially in the cases of those like Hastur and Alistair. What looked at Crowley was a small, skinny man with a thin face and salt-and-pepper hair and beard. But what lurked under the unfortunate host's skin was _undeniably_ Alistair.

Alistair smirked at him. "I don't want him to _kill_ you, Crowley," he said, gesturing at Hastur. "But I've learned that a little bit of punishment can go a very long way."

"You don't have to go any way with me!" Crowley tried to protest. He wasn't hissing any more – his throat was suddenly constricted by blind terror and his voice emerged as a squeak. "I'm on _your_ side, Alistair!

"I know," said Alistair simply. "You're always on 'our side', Crowley. It's who you are. It's in the blood. It's what you were _made_ to do." He took a few steps forward until he was standing beside Hastur, staring down at Crowley with a deeply unpleasant smile on his face. "But I'm not such a fool as to think that you've spent six thousand years walking around with the meat suits without learning _something_. Free will, for one thing. You say you've broken four Seals, Crowley. Now, me, I know you _always_ do what you're told. I know you're good at what you do. But I also know you're a devious little traitor. I can account for every single Seal that's been unlocked and I know for a fact that you're not responsible for a single one of them."

Crowley gulped and tried to press himself further into the wall. He considered abandoning his body…but only briefly. Severing his attachment to the physical world would put him in easy reach of those demons who weren't _in_ the physical world at the moment, and there were rather more of them. Lillith might still be in astral form, and the last thing Crowley wanted was to be on the same plane of existence as her. Since if Alistair really meant vengeance Crowley would already be on the rack, he figured he still had a chance…

"It's not _my_ fault!" he protested, trying to project an aura of injured innocence. "I _did_ break those Seals! Drove all over the bloody country to find out how! I don't see how it's _my_ fault that that bloody angel went and locked 'em back up!"

Hastur rolled his eyes. "Right. Pull the other one. Everybody knows that once a Seal is opened, it _stays_ open!"

"No, no, Hastur." Alistair held up a hand, looking suddenly…thoughtful. "Let's be fair, now. After all, we can't forget Crowley's little 'angel' problem." He smiled slowly and unpleasantly. "How could we? Aziraphale, isn't it? Yes…"

He offered a hand to Crowley. Keeping his eyes locked on Alistair's, Crowley allowed the other demon to help him back to his feet. Alistair's smile suddenly took on an almost cheerful edge, and he clapped Crowley almost companionably on the shoulder.

"Crowley, Crowley, Crowley…" he said, shaking his head. "Oh, we've been _unfair_ to you, haven't we? It's not _fair_ to expect you to work this hard with an angel dogging your tire tracks, is it? My, my, my…six thousand years we've been putting you to work without even _considering_ your celestial counterpart. It's amazing that you've done as much as you have, under such terrible circumstances." He shook his head sadly.

Crowley suddenly wanted to be very far away. Alistair was acting…reasonable. Crowley had known Alistair for a long time, although typically not by choice, and he knew that Alistair only sounded so _pleasant_ when showing some unfortunate victim the _exact_ color of their kidneys.

Alistair smiled again, the bright, happy smile of one who has just had an idea. "I know…I know exactly what we'll do, Crowley. Such a simple plan. I'm amazed I didn't think of it before," he purred, giving Crowley a sidelong glance. "Crowley…why don't you bring your little playmate by to see me? We'll have a nice little _chat_ , him and I…and I'll see if I can't get him to see the error of his ways."

And Crowley suddenly knew what to do. Alistair simply dropped the knowledge into his head. He hated that. He would _always_ hate that. He winced as his instructions passed through his mind…and felt his heart sink as he truly comprehended what Alistair meant for him to do.

"Yes..." Alistair said softly, obviously seeing painful comprehension pass across Crowley's face. "Why don't you do that? Just do that one simple thing...and I think I can take care of your angel problem. Permanently."

* * *

Castiel heaved a sigh. "Very well. This is not the first time the demons have attempted to end the world. I thought it would be clear to you that they failed, however."

"I don't remember anything about the world ending!" Dean snapped. "All hell broke loose at one point, sure, but I'm damn sure we'd have noticed if it started raining _blood_."

"It never got that far."

Dean's jaw clenched. "Cas, don't you dare screw with me. Not about this."

"I'm not. I am merely doing as you asked. If you insist on knowing the events that transpired back then, I will tell you." Castiel shook his head, looking suddenly surlier. "The previous apocalypse was to have been the one spoken of in the Bible. The Antichrist was to have led the armies of Hell upon the world, and we were to take that chance to end Lucifer once and for all. But…" at this, Castiel grimaced. "…Crowley and Aziraphale…interfered. Their time on Earth had long since clouded their judgment, made them blind to the machinations of their respective sides. Made them blind to their own basic incompatibility. They successfully turned the Antichrist from a being of deepest evil into a being indistinguishable from an ordinary human. He retained his demonic powers, but he instead used them to banish the forces of Heaven and Hell from the Earth."

Dean's held up a hand suddenly, cutting the angel off. "Wait, wait, wait…you're telling me the _Antichrist_ is _alive?_ "

"He would have turned thirteen this year."

"Well…well, who the hell is he?! Why are we letting him just hang around? Shouldn't we…I don't know… _kill him?_ "

"You could not kill Adam Young," said Castiel. He said it as though it were a statement of fact. "Adam Young has all the powers of Lucifer, but he is a human boy. I know you, Dean, much better than you think. Though Sam has begun to descend into darkness, I know you do not have the capacity to kill a human boy."

The expression on Dean's face was a good deal stormier at the insult to his brother. "Well, why haven't _you_ guys tried to off him? Seems to me I remember something about how angels have no emotions."

"We have tried," said Castiel simply. "The simple truth is that, despite the fact that he is human, Adam is also more powerful than any angel. He is more powerful than any demon, except for Lucifer himself. Yet he is content to live a human's life, for a human's time. Because of that, Heaven has decided that he may be left alone. _You_ will leave him alone, Dean. Adam will not interfere in this battle, for good or for ill. He is…a 'moot point.'"

Dean nodded curtly. "Sounds good to me." He suddenly frowned, something seeming to occur to him. "Wait…wait, if all this happened before…why is it happening again _now_?"

"I believe you would call this 'Plan B'."

Dean had to fight back a sudden impulse to slug the angel. He only resisted because he really wasn't sure what would happen if he did. "Y'know, your boss put a hell of a lot of work into this place. A whole week, you know?"

Castiel nodded.

"So why the hell do you guys keep trying to rip it up? I mean, we humans have kind of adjusted to living here. Some of us actually _like_ it here."

Castiel grimaced. "This time is…different. We would have won, last time. The battle would have been on our terms. And when we'd won, life would have been better."

"Better for _who_?"

Castiel was not a human, but he possessed a human body and therefore possessed the typical human range of nervous ticks. They were far more muted and less noticeable than an ordinary human's would be, but Dean had still discovered a few of Castiel's habits. One such habit was how he dealt with anything that went over his head. He would pause for an instant, contemplating what he had just heard. His eyes would go briefly glassy as he ran the unfamiliar words through some adopted databank of human expression…and, typically, it would fail to match up with anything he could recognize and he'd disregard the words just spoken.

Dean noted with grim satisfaction that he did just that. The question was apparently either too deep or too blasphemous for Castiel to comprehend, and so he ignored it.

"This time, however, we are fighting on the demon's terms. They are picking their battles, they are taking their time, and they are winning. Many of us would still rather see the world in its current state than ruled over by Lucifer. I'm sure you agree."

Dean found that he had to, and nodded shortly. "Fine, then. But there's a piece of this puzzle I'm still missing." When Castiel actually sighed, Dean felt his temper flare up once again. "This is _important_ , damn it! Maybe more important than anything else I've asked you! Why the hell don't I remember this? This can't have been all that long ago, if the Antichrist is only just hitting puberty. Why don't I remember any of this?"

"It was deemed… _better_ if the world were returned to its original state. Adam arranged that this would be so. While he could not affect the memories of angels or demons, he ensured that human beings would remain…untroubled by how close many of them came to annihilation."

"Including us?"

"Including you. It wasn't very difficult to unmake the events of that day. Much of it happened over the span of a single day. A Saturday, in fact."

Dean placed a hand to his forehead. " _God_ , that's twisted." He looked up at Castiel. "Well…what were _we_ doing? Sam and I? On this day that apparently didn't happen."

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it does, as a matter of fact. I don't like knowing there's a hole in my memory that I didn't ask for. If I'm gonna stop this thing, Cas, I need to know all the facts."

Castiel made a faintly noncommitive noise. "Very well. You have proven that you work well when you are fully aware of the situation. If it's that important to you…"

He reached across the space between them and gently pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean opened his mouth to protest – he remembered Castiel making the very same gesture to put Bobby out like a light – before the world changed around him.


	10. All He Needs is Out

Crowley wasn't _entirely_ surprised to realize that Ruby had ditched him. He didn't entirely care, either. He accepted that Ruby was a fickle little witch, just as Ruby accepted that he was an untrustworthy snake. It was part of what made their relationship work. At least she hadn't stuck him with the tab, because there had been no tab.

He was less accepting of the fact that she'd kicked a respectably sized dent in the Bentley's door as a parting gift.

With a sigh and a wave of his hand, the metal popped back into place and Crowley got inside the car. He let himself relax in the driver's seat – any doubts he'd ever had about the quality of Adam's work repairing the Bentley had vanished a long time ago.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Crowley was sliding a tape into the cassette player. There was a few seconds of silence as the tape warmed up, and then the opening strains of Bach's "My Melancholy Blue" began to play.

_"Another party's over…and I'm left cold sober…my baby left me for someone new…"_

Truth to tell, he had sometimes been simply amazed at the _density_ of his superiors when it came to Aziraphale. But, why not? They'd had the Arrangement working in both their favors ever since the eleventh century. Of course Below wouldn't think much about Aziraphale, because The Arrangement let Crowley tell them – quite truthfully – about his victories against his Cunning and Well Informed Angelic Adversary. Aziraphale, in his turn, was able to tell Heaven – quite truthfully – about Thwarting the Wiles of The Wicked Serpent every few weeks. Leave it to Alistair to poke his nose into Crowley's private affairs…

Alistair terrified him. Crowley considered a healthy fear of those Below to be a survival trait for a demon, but Alistair elicited feelings of abject terror. Alistair was quite intelligent – a rarity for the average demon – and Alistair didn't screw around. If he wanted you dead, he would kill you…eventually. First he would make you _wish_ you were dead a thousand times over, but _you would die_. Most of the older demons, such as Hastur, would at least monologue before they killed or tortured you. Alistair wouldn't say a word to his victims until they were being secured to the rack.

Could he really turn Aziraphale over to Alistair? Crowley knew he was technically "evil", but willingly putting someone he knew…someone he quite _liked_ in a strange way…at Alistair's mercy was…wrong. Aziraphale was his _friend_. At least…Crowley hastily amended the thought…Aziraphale was the only being in the entire world, in Heaven or Hell, that he could _truly_ relate to. That he could be _himself_ around. Which made him the closest thing to a friend Crowley supposed he would ever really have.

But…Alistair. Crowley had spent some time under Alistair's knife, and he was not eager to repeat the experience _ever again_. Crowley had gotten the commendation for the Spanish Inquisition only because Alistair had gotten bored and wanted to get back to Hell. Even if he didn't do as he was told, it was a safe bet that Alistair would go looking for the angel anyway. Aziraphale was stronger than he looked but, then again, so was Alistair. And with Hastur on his payroll, Crowley was pretty blessed sure that even Aziraphale would meet his match.

Of course, if Castiel and Uriel were still in the area, it might be possible to persuade them to give Aziraphale a hand, but they would never believe a word he said.

_If Castiel and Uriel were still in the area…_

A thought was developing. Crowley let it develop, only daring to look at it sideways out of his mind's eye, lest he scare it away. But he was quite certain, after a moment of deep cogitation.

This errant thought was the beginnings of a _plan_.

He had to bite back a scream as someone opened the passenger's side door. But when he looked up wildly, he saw that it was only Aziraphale, holding a brown paper bag.

"Sorry," said the angel, sliding without invitation into the seat beside Crowley. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Crowley tentatively let his heart start beating again. "Aziraphale…what are you doing here?"

Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. "I just started getting nervous. I thought I'd better check up on everyone, make sure that Castiel or Uriel hadn't smited you yet…or that you hadn't started drawing the Banishment Symbol all over the place."

Crowley snorted. "Please. They're not worth the blood."

"No. I suppose not." Aziraphale reached inside the bag and came out with a hard-boiled egg and a salt packet. He offered both to Crowley.

"I just ate," Crowley reminded him.

"Of course," said Aziraphale absently. He went to work applying salt to egg anyway. Aziraphale preferred deviled eggs, but any yolk in a storm would do for him. After a minute, Crowley rolled his eyes. What the hell?

He held out a hand. Aziraphale, half an egg in his mouth, reached into the paper bag, pulled out a BLT, and passed it to Crowley.

"You didn't actually buy this food, did you?" asked Crowley around a mouthful of sandwich.

Aziraphale shook his head. "While there is a lot to say for America…" he said, in the diplomatic voice he adopted when he really couldn't think of anything nice to say at all. "…the quality of food is not one of them."

Crowley smirked. "Amen to that."

A little more rummaging produced a rather respectable meal, most of it miracled into existence by Aziraphale. The two ate mostly in silence, listening peacefully to the many and varied tunes of Queen.

Crowley couldn't help but wince as he slipped another tape in at random. _"All we need is Radio Ga-Ga…"_

_All I need is out,_ he thought glumly. A familiar thought to rhyme the familiar tune. Trust Aziraphale to go and do something so…so ruthlessly _nice_ just when Crowley was thinking of throwing him to the lions.

_Always knew you were enough of a bastard to be worth liking,_ thought Crowley bitterly as he took a swig of a very nice bottle of miracle wine. What he said out loud was, "What's the occasion?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I…It's silly, really."

"Angel, I've seen you dance. Nothing can be worse than that."

Aziraphale chuckled, but quickly sobered up. "Well, it's just that…we haven't seen very much of each other lately, have we?"

"So? Thought we agreed to keep out of one another's way since last time. That way, we up our stocks with Above and Below."

Aziraphale waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, I know _that_." They didn't generally see one another very often, in human perspectives. But, when you were immortal, what difference did a few years make?

As if reading his mind, Aziraphale pressed on. "But last time, we worked quite well together. We saw quite a bit of each other. I suppose that, when we got ourselves embroiled in this whole affair, I thought we'd be working together again." He very nearly blushed. "I just find I've been feeling a little lonely, my dear boy, fighting all those demons by myself. It's not the Ritz, but…"

Crowley sighed. Aziraphale blinked, suddenly looking sheepish again. "Sorry," said the angel, averting his gaze. "I know you've been working very hard, it's just…"

"I know," said Crowley shortly. He stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and gripped the steering wheel.

_"I want to break free…I want to break free…I want to break free from your lies…you're so self-satisfied…I don't need you…"_

The demon made a face as he started the car. Perfect. Now even _Queen_ was against him. "You say Castiel and Uriel are still in town?"

Aziraphale nodded, still looking…suspicious at the sudden subject change. "Yes. They're still here."

"Any idea where we could find them?"

His counterpart shrugged. "Well, I know Castiel likes to keep a close eye on Dean, and Uriel generally keeps close to Castiel. Perhaps if we just go and speak with those boys…"

"Sounds good." With a thought, Crowley started the car. "Hate to eat and run, angel…"

"What in the world is your hurry, my dear boy?"

One good thing about small towns. There were typically less people on the streets, especially late at night. While it became a lot less fun to do ninety miles an hour, there was less chance of killing someone. "New demon blew into town. He brought some pretty big news with him."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"Yes," said Aziraphale promptly. Crowley laughed.

"Nice," he said. "Nice job. Only took you a few thousand years to figure it out. But when it comes right down to it, I _am_ a demon of my word. I couldn't tell you if the joker I met in the restaurant was telling the truth, but…"

 


	11. The Day That Never Was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have read "Good Omens" recently, much of this chapter will be review. This chapter basically consists of Castiel mentally catching Dean up to speed about the events of the "last" Apocalypse. It's not in chronological order - but, then again, getting a bunch of images and memories of events you're not supposed to remember shoved into your head isn't exactly an orderly process.
> 
> Even so, the last scene in this chapter is not derived from the book. It's what I think was probably going on with the boys on that Saturday just before teatime.
> 
> Because so much of this chapter is lifted and/or derived from the book, I'll restate the general disclaimer up on my profile. I do not own "Good Omens" or "Supernatural". I'm making no money off of this.

_A troupe of motorcycles, speeding down a highway. Four in front, four behind. The ones behind were ordinary men – oversized, hulking, riding their motorcycles down the street as though they had a personal grudge against the world. But the four in front…_

_One was female. She was dressed in red, all in red. From helmet to cycle, in hues ranging from fiery sunset to blood red…in fact, Dean noted with worry, she seemed to favor blood red._

_On her right, a man. He was much smaller than her, dressed all in white. But, where her coat was spotless, his was grubby, coated with dust and grime._

_On his right, another man, as tall as her and dressed in black. He was frighteningly thin – even his motorcycle seemed so thin and compact that it was amazing that it was still vertical._

_Another…"man" rode with them. He was taller than anyone Dean had ever seen. His visor completely covered his face, and Dean was suddenly quite relieved by that fact. This figure was not dressed in black, he was dressed in…darkness. Pure, utter, pitch darkness. And among these strange riders dressed in strange colors, he was clearly their leader._

_The eight of them were racing down a highway. But the road ahead was blocked, by an oversized cart, a hunk of corrugated iron, and, for some reason, a massive pile of fish._

_They were going to crash._

_But…they didn't._

_With a faint whoosh, the woman in red, the man in white, and the man in black leapt over the obstacles with ease. And, as they did, Dean caught sight of the letters picked out in shiny stones on the backs of their jackets._

_Hell's Angels._

_But their leader did not follow immediately. He glanced back at the four riders tailing them and spoke, in a voice that sounded like the slamming of a crypt door._

_I'LL CATCH UP WITH THE REST OF YOU._

*

_Aziraphale, standing in his bookshop with the air of one approaching an unexploded bomb. Another man, short and scruffy and clearly deranged, stood a short distance away. A strange symbol was between them, etched on the floor and glowing with an eerie blue light. Aziraphale was trying to speak, but his opponent was having none of it._

_"You see, the circle…"_

_"…and return henceforth to the place from which ye came, pausin' not to…"_

_"…it would really be unwise for a human to set foot in it without…"_

_"…and deliver us frae evil…"_

_"Keep out of the circle, you stupid man!" Aziraphale cried, getting more and more agitated by the second. But the man seemed not to hear him, continuing to approach slowly but steadily, apparently oblivious to the glowing blue symbol in his path._

_"…never to come again to vex…"_

_"Yes, yes, but_ please _keep out of…"_

_Aziraphale moved, charging straight for the man, apparently intending to push him out of the way._

_The man stumbled back and paused in his pursuit, but not in his amateur exorcism. "…returning NAE MORE!" he finished, pointing a finger at the angel._

_Aziraphale froze, illuminated by the cold blue light. He looked down at his feet, and saw himself standing in the circle on the floor._

_"Oh,_ fuck _," he swore. Then, with a melodious_ twang _, he vanished._

*

_MORTALS CAN HOPE FOR DEATH, OR FOR REDEMPTION. YOU CAN HOPE FOR NOTHING. ALL YOU CAN HOPE FOR IS THE MERCY OF HELL._

_"Yeah?"_

_JUST OUR LITTLE JOKE._

_"Ngk."_

_Crowley was in the Bentley. It was driving without any input from the demon, who instead used his hands to hold a battered book in his lap. His sunglasses were gone and he was covered in ashes and soot. It was clear to Dean that the demon was exhausted…and scared._

_But as he stared anxiously at the road ahead, a faint spark of anger was starting to smolder within his eyes._

_The Bentley rounded a corner and approached a massive highway. Dean saw the most massive traffic jam he had ever seen. Hundreds of cars were packed end-to-end, and the air was suddenly filled with the sounds of car horns, roaring engines, blaring sirens, the shriek of babies, and the cries of trapped drivers. The thousands of frustrated, helpless cries mingled in the air, until they formed their own, special sound._

"Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds."

_Crowley observed the scene before him. Some great inner turmoil was suddenly draining his attention. Dean could see him working to some forgone conclusion…_

_…and then, the Serpent smiled slowly. A snap of his fingers, and the ash was gone. The sunglasses were back on his face. He began to whistle softly as the Bentley sped forward._

*

 _Three boys, a girl, and a dog. All so young. They faced the four from the motorcycles, but they had abandoned the motorcycles now. In fact, they seemed to have abandoned their human skins entirely. He could vaguely pick out which was which…and he_ knew _which was which now. Death stood slightly ahead of War, Famine, and Pestilence…no, not truly Pestilence. Pollution._

_Death faced the four children and the dog, but his sightless gaze rested only on their leader. A boy, a small boy of eleven, with fair blond curls, bright blue eyes, and the stance of a general preparing his troops for Normandy. He stared at Death without the faintest trace of fear in his eyes._

_"Yes, well…" said the boy. "the thing_ is _, I don't want it done. I never_ asked _for it to be done."_

_Death seemed…taken aback. He stared at the three behind him, then looked back at the boy. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. SURELY YOUR VERY EXISTENCE REQUIRES THE ENDING OF THE WORLD. IT IS WRITTEN._

_"I dunt see why anyone has to go an' write things like that," said the boy calmly. "The world is full of all sorts of brilliant stuff and I haven't found out all about it yet, so I don't want anyone messing it about or endin' it before I've had a chance to find out about it. So you can all just go away."_

_Death continued to stare at the boy as War inched forward. She spoke, around teeth that flashed and sparkled like bullets,, but it sounded like more of an effort for her than it did for Death. "You…are part…of us…"_

_"It is done," said Pollution, in a voice like oil leaking slowly into the sea. "We make…the…world…anew."_

_"You…lead…us…" growled Famine._

_The boy…paused. He looked at the harbingers of the end before him, and he seemed uncertain. For an instant…just for an instant…something changed. For just an instant, it was not a boy that stood facing the Four Horsemen. For just an instant, something far more terrible, something that was not an angel nor a demon nor even remotely a human, stood in his place._

_For just an instant the massed ranks of Heaven and Hell froze, waiting to see what would happen next. Waiting for the checkered flag to drop._

_Behind him, the dog began to growl. The boy glanced back at it, at the two boys and the girl who stood around it, staring at him with a mixture of fear and undying loyalty in their eyes._

_And then Adam Young reached a decision. He turned back to the Horsemen, fists clenched at his side._

_"Get them," he said softly._

*

_They were walking together through a forest, picking their way over protruding tree roots and ducking under branches. Dean watched as he and his brother walked together through the trees. It was the biggest forest he had ever seen. The trees were huge and leafy and vital. They looked hundreds of years old, and even in the haze of the images assaulting his mind, even as he watched himself walking with his brother, Dean thought that that was strange. He hadn't thought that there were trees that old left in the world._

_"What the hell are we doing, Dean?" Sam finally demanded. He was younger. So was Dean._

_"We're walking, Sam," said Dean shortly. He was panting a little as he clambered over tree roots jutting out to heights half as big as he was. "We are moving our feet steadily forward in order to get from one place to the next. You went to collge. Look it up."_

_"_ Why _are we walking?" Sam demanded, coming to a firm and unmoving halt. "What are we hoping to find? The world's gone insane, and we know its not the demons!"_

 _"Then how do you explain this?!" Dean snapped, whirling to face his brother and gesturing wildly at the wood around him. "This was a truck stop a month ago. Hell, this was a truck stop_ three days ago! _Now all of a sudden everything starts turning into the Garden of Eden! Bobby says this is going on_ all over the world! _What else would you call this?!"_

 _"I've called every Hunter on Dad's list. I've called every Hunter we've ever_ met _!_ _Nobody's seen a demon for a week. I don't know what's going on anymore than you do, but…" He sighed. "I don't know what's going on," he finished lamely. "Something's happening, Dean. I guess that much is obvious. But I'm not sure if it's demonic. At least…" he turned in a slow circle, gazing at the trees surrounding them "…I don't think it's_ completely _demonic. One day, everything's fine. The next, they're loading up the warheads. If it is demons, they're going to have to move fast to kill us before the rest of the world does!"_

_Dean shrugged, his expression grim. "Maybe some demons possessed the world bigwigs and the rest are laying low. I don't know, Sammy." He glanced over Sam's shoulder. "But I want to find something and kill it. These damn hunks of wood wrecked my car!"_

_Sam smiled weakly. "The world's on its head and you're still worried about the car."_

_"It was a good car!" Dean finally closed the distance between the two of them. "Look, Sam. I don't know what's going on here anymore than you do. But we won't fix anything by sitting around. If we walk, we might find_ something _. Maybe some people. Maybe some demons. I don't know. But we've gotta try."_

_Some of Dean's fire seemed to seep into Sam. Sam's jaw tightened, and he nodded. Dean smiled encouragingly at his brother, and then turned to continue leading the way._

_Dean…the present Dean…watched this entire exchange silently. He could not speak. He could only watch as the past selves of himself and his brother walked on. He could not even cry out when a human-shaped figure appeared behind them without a sound. A human-shaped figure with burning yellow eyes._

_But Sam seemed to sense something. He turned, and let out a wild yell of terror._ "DEAN!!"

_Dean whirled round, and his eyes went wide as Azazel smiled. The demon turned its yellow eyes on Sam._

_Dean plunged a hand into his jacket and pulled out a gun. The Colt. He pointed it straight at Azazel. "You stay away from my brother," he growled._

_The two Winchester boys drew closer together, their collective gaze never wavering from the yellow eyed demon. Dean moved slightly forward, placing his free hand on Sam's chest to keep him back. Azazel actually laughed, shaking its head at the sight of them._

_"How sweet," it drawled. Then, looking past Dean, it fixed its gaze on Sam. "Times have changed, Sammy. I've had to move my plans up a bit. Let's say you're the winner by default – I always thought you'd come out on top, in the end. So what's say we just skip the formalities? What's say you and I get this party started?"_

_"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Sam snapped. "And you can just take a hike, Yellow Eyes! There's no way I'll_ ever _help you."_

_A look of slightly reproachful disappointment crossed Azazel's face._

_"Oh, dear," it said, letting out a theatrical sigh of mock-sadness. "I was afraid you'd say that. I really was. Ah, well…"_

_Without any apparent effort, Azazel seized Sam in its mental grip and threw him away from Dean. Both brothers cried out in surprise, but before either one could react Azazel had Sam pinned tightly to a nearby tree._

_"…I guess I'll have to teach you your place the hard way," Yellow Eyes growled, its voice suddenly far less human. "But first…" It fixed its gaze on Dean now. "It looks like I'll need to do a little tidying up before we can get to work."_

_Dean was afraid now – his gaze kept vacillating ever so slightly between the demon and his brother. But he raised the gun again and fired, just once. There was only one bullet left in the Colt anyway._

_It hit Azazel in the chest. Blood blossomed out from the wound…and the demon smiled._

_IT IS NOT YET HIS TIME._

_And suddenly there was a figure between Azazel and Dean. A tall, black, terrifying figure cloaked in shadows. Its bony fingers were clutched around the hilt of a long, lethal scythe._

_There was real fear in Dean's face now, real fear as he gazed at Death, and Death gazed back. But there was still determination as well…determination not to give up until Sam was safe._

_Death spoke to him again. HE HAS A DESTINY. HE HAS A FATE. HE WILL LEAD THE CHOSEN CHILD, AND THAT CHILD WILL COMMAND THE ARMIES OF HELL._

_"You tryin' to tell me my brother's the damn Antichrist?" Dean demanded, not lowering the gun even though it was useless now._

_NO. THAT CHILD HAS ALREADY PAVED THE WAY. OLDER AND WISER HEADS WILL NOW RULE. AZAZEL SHALL LEAD SAM WINCHESTER, AND SAM WINCHESTER WILL LEAD THE WAY._

_"And what about me?" Dean asked, staring defiantly up at the Grim Reaper. "Where do I fit into this?"_

_Death raised the scythe._

_YOU DON'T._

_Sam was shouting for him, screaming his name as he struggled wildly against Azazel's hold. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his little brother struggling with every ounce of strength he possessed._

_Dean looked at Sam. He wanted to see his brother before he died, see his brother fighting on, never surrendering, never giving in and never letting someone else decide his fate. A true Hunter. A good man._

_A true brother._

"DEAN!!"

_The scythe came down…_

…and the door slammed open.


	12. Hold 'Em and Fold 'Em

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working with advanced knowledge of the plot here...I'd seen "Lucifer Rising" before I was halfway done with this. Therefore, this chapter does contain some rather important spoilers for the last half of the season, starting from On the Head of a Pin. If you don't want to be spoiled yet, skip over Sam and Ruby's scene at the bottom.

Dean found himself jerked forcibly back to the present – the room, the night, the bed, the angel. Castiel still sat across from him, looking nearly as startled as Dean was. Both of them looked towards the door to see Crowley standing there, looking harassed.

"You!" he said, pointing at Castiel. Castiel frowned at being addressed by a demon. "You…angel! Castiel!" He quickly closed the door behind him, as if wary of pursuit. "For His sake, we've been looking everywhere, you scruffy little…"

"What do you want, Crowley?" asked Castiel, his voice hard enough to cut steel.

Running a hand distractedly through his hair, Crowley crossed the room to sit down next to Dean. Completely ignoring the human in the room, he stared fixedly at Castiel from behind his sunglasses.

"Alistair. He's in town. Planning…something."

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Alistair? You're certain?" Dean noted that the suspicion was suddenly gone from his voice. Alistair was apparently a matter to be taken seriously regardless of species.

"Give me some credit, here. I know a demon when I see it. I know Alistair when I see him. He's here. He's planning something. I just said."

"What is he planning, Crowley?" Castiel asked intently. His tone was still quite hostile, but he seemed to be taking Crowley seriously. Crowley, in turn, looked rather more relaxed as his chances of getting smited steadily decreased.

"What's any demon got on his mind these days?" The demon shrugged expansively. "Seals, Cassie. You really think Alistair would be showing himself if it wasn't to break one wide open?"

"No. I don't." Castiel tilted his head, suddenly thoughtful. "Does Alistair know that you know his plans? Does Alistair suspect that you are in contact with us? With Aziraphale?"

"Alistair knows I know about the Seals. Hell, he's the one set me to breaking them. He probably suspects me of something, the bloodthirsty bastard, but…well, everybody suspects someone of something Down There. Lucky for us, Aziraphale and I have kept off one another's radar since last time." He smiled a snake's smile. "Fortunately, he knows that angels scare the living daylights out of me, so at the very least he should be…surprised."

Castiel nodded slowly. "This is…good news. You think you have an opportunity to strike?"

Crowley held up his hands. "I don't strike. I tell other people…like you and Uriel…so you can strike. You lot have got flaming swords and heavenly wrath."

"Very well. This is…good. If your information proves to be accurate…we will remember this, Crowley."

"I doubt that. But I've been surprised before." Crowley got to his feet, looking suddenly grim. "I sent Aziraphale off to find Uriel, since you seemed to be the one who actually has some sense. We'll meet up back at his bookshop."

Castiel also got to his feet. "Very well. Let's go."

"Let's."

Dean could sense that both beings were about to vanish, and he took advantage of the momentary lull in conversation to finally catch their attention. "Hey!"

Crowley and Castiel looked at him politely. Dean stared back angrily. "And where do Sam and I fit into your plan?"

Crowley smirked. "Ah. Right. Well, to be honest, you don't."

"What?! You son of a snake, you cannot keep me out of…"

"Stop and think about what you're saying, Dean!" Crowley yelled over his indignant shout. "You willingly want to go up against Alistair? After your history with him? For His sake, for once in your life let someone else handle it!"

"Alistair's my nightmare," Dean hissed. "He's my problem…"

"Alistair is everyone's problem, Dean," said Castiel sharply. Dean ignored him.

"…he's interested in me, and I'm not going to let…"

Crowley snapped his fingers, and Dean felt something pass through his mind like a storm cloud, there and gone in an instant. It took with it his current anger, his evident tension, and his surface rage. There was still anger, tension, and rage hidden safely in the depths of Dean's mind…there always was, nowadays. But the Hunter felt a deep, heavy peace spread over the surface of his mind. Without consciously thinking about it, he sat back down on the bed.

"Good boy," said Crowley, smiling in satisfaction.

Dean tried to think. It was hard. It was as though his thoughts were having to struggle through a thick fog to make themselves heard. "What…the hell…did you do to me?"

"Forcibly cooled your heels a bit. You don't go charging off after Alistair half cocked, not unless you're really curious about what your small intestine tastes like. This way, you might actually listen to what I'm saying." Crowley leaned down a little, until he was looking Dean in the eyes. "Stay away from Alistair. He's my demon as much as he is your's. You want to help? Well, of course you do. You always do. Then do me this favor, Dean. Go find your brother and keep him off the street tonight."

Dean froze. "Sammy? Why? You think…he could be…a target?"

"He's a human…he was one of Azazel's…he's a Hunter…he can vaporize most of us with his brain…he's out with Ruby…and he's your brother." Crowley treated Dean to another one of his serpentine smiles. "What do you think?"

Dean nodded slowly, his head still feeling frustratingly thick. Maybe it was Crowley's influence, but the demon was making sense. He didn't like it, but Crowley was making sense. "Yeah…yeah. Gotta…gotta find Sam," he murmured. He made to get to his feet, but Crowley's gaze on him intensified and Dean found himself sitting back down.

"How long will that last?" Dean heard Castiel ask Crowley, but only dimly.

"With a mind like this? Five minutes, if I'm lucky. Fortunately, I know he'll go charging after Sam before he does anything else. For once, time is on our side." He seemed to pull a set of keys out of thin air and dropped them with a jingle on the bed beside Dean. "I'll even let you borrow my car." Crowley treated Dean to a cheerful wave. "Enjoy yourself. And tell Ruby I said 'hi'."

With that, the angel and the demon vanished from the room without a trace.

It was one of the most frustrating five minutes of Dean's resurrected life. Whatever whammy Crowley had placed on him was thorough. As the seconds ticked by, Dean had to fight just to get to his feet. By the time he managed to regain enough control of his motor functions to grab the keys Crowley had so kindly left for him, it was only because his mind was a solid mass of rage and fear for Sam. With those two emotions driving him on, Dean managed to make it to the door, wrench it open, and stumble out into the night as the last of Crowley's influence left his body.

He'd seen Crowley's car earlier that morning, when he'd been driving away from the bookshop with Ruby. A sleek, well-preserved Bentley. As Dean unlocked the door and slid himself into the driver's seat, he thought ruefully that under different circumstances he might actually have grown to like the demon. As it was, he let himself relax. There was just something so…solid about a car that could survive so many decades.

The gas gauge was pointing firmly at E, but when Dean turned the key in the ignition the car rumbled to life and music began to play.

"We are the champions…we are the champions…"

Dean suddenly found that he was grinning. As he pulled the Bentley out of the parking lot, he let himself sing along. Yes, indeed…in another time and another place, he might have quite liked the demon known as Crowley. Here and now, however…

The Bentley shot away down the street. Dean left with only a handful of weapons…they kept most of the heavy artillery in the Impala, after all. Ruby's knife rested on the seat beside him, along with a sturdy handgun loaded with rock salt bullets. If any demons came calling, Dean felt confident that he could at least make them pause long enough to run them over.

He left the few possessions they'd taken inside the hotel room inside the hotel room. There wasn't much – just Sam's laptop and Dean's phone. By the time Dean remembered that he'd left it behind, he was four blocks away, accelerating, and in no mood to slow down.

* * *

Ruby hadn't actually found herself a motel room, but Sam drove her to the one she'd had in mind in any case. She paid for the night, and before Sam knew it he had followed her inside.

The door had barely closed behind them when she was kissing him. As always, the feel of her lips on his drove nearly all other thoughts from his mind.

Even so, Sam made an effort.

"I should…" he murmured, in the few seconds Ruby pulled away for air. "…really get back. Dean…"

Ruby pulled away, though not very far. Sam, still a little breathless, stared at her. The demon was still smiling, which made him feel a good deal better about his brotherly obligations.

"I know," she said. "In times like this…you both need to stick together. He needs you to watch his back. Every demon and their mother's gunning for Dean nowadays, from all I've heard."

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah…yeah. And Dean hasn't been…himself lately. I'm worried about him, Ruby."

"You probably should be. Hell, even I can tell you he's been acting strange, lately. When I dropped by to tell you guys about Aziraphale, he actually talked to me without keeping a hand on my knife." Ruby stared up at him, her dark eyes urgent. "You're right, Sammy. Dean needs you. Until he gets back on his feet, you'll have to protect him."

Sam sighed, and couldn't help but notice the way his breath fluttered a few strands of Ruby's hair. "I know." A little reluctantly, they pulled fully away from each other. "So, I should get…"

Ruby reached down, and pulled a short, thin knife out of her belt. Sam felt silent, his gaze suddenly riveted to the blade.

"Before you go…" she said softly.

"You really think…?" Sam began, but he found himself trailing off. It had been a while. A long while. He'd felt himself getting weaker, and coming down off the crest of power demon blood brought…

"Sam," said Ruby, her voice firm. "There are three angels in town, and we already know that something's killing them. Whatever that thing is, it's way out of our league. With Castiel on his shoulder, what do you think will happen if Dean gets in its way?"

Sam suddenly found that he did not want to contemplate that particular scenario. But he could not deny that Ruby was right. With three angels in town, they were bound to attract unwanted attention. And with Dean so far off his game…

He nodded. Ruby smiled reassuringly at him as she pressed the knife against her own arm and cut deeply.


	13. Mistake

Crowley and Castiel flashed into existence outside of a large, well-kept, old fashioned church. Castiel looked around warily, a faint trace of confusion on his face.

"Where are we?" he asked. "You said we were going to meet Aziraphale."

"And we are. Aziraphale's bringing Uriel _here_. I dropped the line about the bookshop to keep Dean out of the way." He smiled at Castiel. "Unlike most of my kind, I don't just lie for fun. I thought you three might be more comfortable putting your heads together in a place like this. Aziraphale's shop certainly isn't the safest place on Earth."

Crowley nodded. "That makes sense." A pause, then, "What about you?"

"I can hang around for a while." Crowley waved a hand dismissively. "These places aren't as bad as most demons make them out to be. Hell, I once had to pretend to _be_ an angel, after Aziraphale threw a monkey wrench into the Crusades for me."

Castiel looked…disapproving, but disapproving was several steps down from "murderous" and so Crowley took it as a positive sign. The great wooden doors of the church were chained shut for the night, but the lock snapped in half as Castiel approached. He opened the doors without any apparent effort and strode inside, Crowley trailing after him.

Most of the sconces spaced around the wide cathedral still held half-melted candles, but the angel and the demon ignored them. They could pick out their surroundings perfectly, the shadows presenting no barrier. The hall was wide and high. The space between them and the preacher's pulpit and musical bleachers against the opposite wall was filled by rows of pews on either side of a long stretch of carpet, wide enough for both of them to stand on it side-by-side. Ornate stained glass windows were spaced at intervals around the walls. For such a small town, the citizens clearly took religion seriously.

Castiel walked down the aisle without any further pause. Crowley remained by the doors, but Castiel didn't really expect him to follow. All bravado aside, a house of God was no place for a demon. No place for the Serpent.

He could feel no sign of Aziraphale or Uriel. He couldn't detect any demonic presences either, apart from Crowley. That was…a little strange. But Castiel couldn't quite understand _why_ it was strange. Uriel might be masking his presence, the better to get away from Crowley and Aziraphale. Aziraphale himself had spent so much time on Earth that his aura was a disconcerting mix of angel and human. But Aziraphale's power was undeniable, and so why should there be any demons nearby?

Even so, Castiel felt a growing sense of unease. He paused near the end of the row of pews, turning in a slow circle, staring up at the shadowed ceiling for any sign of anything amiss.

"Where are they?" he asked. His voice echoed around the hall, and he glanced back at Crowley. The demon had not moved from his spot leaning against cathedral's doorframe, and he did not even look up at the sound of the angel's voice. Castiel frowned. He knew now that something was wrong, but the source of it remained out of reach. Castiel turned towards Crowley, sticking his hands nervously in his coat pockets. "Crowley…where are they?"

Crowley, still avoiding Castiel's gaze, raised a hand and pointed over the angel's shoulder. Castiel turned, just in time to get punched hard across the face by what was most definitely a demon.

"Sorry," said Crowley softly, as he saw Castiel go down. And he was, just a little. But he'd done what had to be done. He could probably leave the rest to Alistair.

Crowley turned to slip away through the church doors, which were still wide open. He turned, and hurriedly backpedaled at the sight of Hastur blocking his way. Grinning broadly and showing a mouthful of fangs, the Duke of Hell strode forward and grabbed Crowley by the front of his shirt.

"Hello, Crawly," he hissed. "Miss me?"

Before Crowley could even utter his usual noise of abject terror, Hastur had heaved him over his head and hurled him down the aisle. Crowley landed on the expansive carpet hard, and winced as his shoulder dislocated on impact. He struggled to his feet, shifted the bone back into place, and tried to run. Hastur was bigger than him, but he was a little bit slower. If he could just get a good enough run-up…

Crowley started to move. He was rebuffed by an invisible force before he got much further than a few steps and forced to stagger back. The demon hissed, and tore his sunglasses off to stare down at the floor beneath his feet. He let his vision shift, the better to see that which was invisible to the mortal eye.

"Oh, _blessss it_!" he snarled. With his eyes seeing in the ethereal spectrum, he could see through the rug right to the Devil's Trap right beneath his feet. He had about two feet to move in either direction, and no hope of escape.

He didn't need to worry about Hastur anymore – even if the Duke came in here with him, he'd be able to burn his way back out and Crowley would probably at least be able to crawl after him. But Castiel…

Crowley whirled around just in time to see Alistair lift Castiel into the air, both hands wrapped around the angel's throat. In the span of a moment, both beings had managed to inflict a heavy amount of damage on one another, but Castiel was clearly the worse for wear.

"Hello…" Alistair purred. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Aziraphale."


	14. Means and Ends

The first words that ran through Dean's mind as he saw the Impala rapidly drawing level with him in the opposite lane was "car thief." But then the edge of the Bentley's headlights just barely caught the figure in the driver's seat and Dean became, if possible, even angrier.

It was late at night in a small town, and so Dean managed to pull the sharp U-turn without hitting anyone or attracting the attention of the nearest cop. Sam didn't seem to have noticed him. Dean quickly pulled into the adjacent lane going in the same direction and managed to pull up level with his car and his brother. He honked the Bentley's horn a few times, and Sam looked round at him. Both sets of windows were up, so Dean felt confident that Sam couldn't actually _hear_ the names Dean was calling him. But, judging by the expression that came over his brother's face, Sam got the general idea.

Both Winchesters pulled their cars into the parking lot of the nearest building and got out. Dean made a play of checking his watch.

"Fifty minutes," he said, taking care to keep his voice level.

"Dean…"

"Fifty minutes to cover six friggin' blocks…"

"Dean…"

"Stand in line…"

"Dean."

"By some pie…"

"Dean!"

"…and drive six friggin' blocks back!" Dean glared at his brother. "Traffic ain't that bad, Sam. Where the hell were you?"

Sam pulled a large paper bag out of the Impala. "Buying dinner," he said flatly. "Dean, what the hell is wrong with you? When did you suddenly become the mother in this relationship?"

"Since Alistair blew into town!" Dean snapped. He felt a deep, dark satisfaction as the color drained from Sam's face.

"Who told you that?" Sam asked. Dean forced himself to pause, because the fear in his brother's voice was plain. He took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.

"Crowley," he said.

Sam snorted, his tension suddenly gone. "Crowley? You trust _Crowley_?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do! Cas seemed to! Hell, _Ruby_ trusts Crowley and Ruby barely _…_ " Dean froze, as the horrible, _awful_ possibility stole into his mind. "Sam, don't _tell_ me you've been off with Ruby…"

"I won't," said Sam, cutting him off and flashing Dean a cold smile. "You still hungry?"

Dean sighed. Now they were back on the battlefield of an ongoing war that he was rapidly losing hope of winning. He backed off this time, and looked up at Sam while fighting to keep his expression pleasant. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. You took your sweet time after all, Sasquatch." He slipped into the passenger's seat of the Impala. "You better not have forgotten the pie."

"I didn't forget the pie," said Sam wearily, slipping into the driver's seat and hanging over a Styrofoam container. "Enjoy. Are you really going to leave Crowley's car there?"

Dean smirked. "I'd hate to be the poor bastard who stole it. It'll be fine, and it'll be a bit of payback at the same time. Hit the gas, Sammy. We've got a stop to make back at Aziraphale's shop."

"Why?"

"Alistair's in town, remember? Time to rally the troops, wouldn't you say?"

Sam nodded, before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway back onto the curb. "I would. I like the sound of that."

* * *

Alistair had successfully managed the difficult task of briefly knocking an angel unconscious. It had taken a lot of effort, but eventually Alistair managed to get Castiel to lay still enough long enough to drag him down a nearby hallway and out of Crowley's sight. Crowley, on his part, was forced to remain in the Devil's Trap. The only other person still in the hall with him was Hastur, lounging on one of the few bench pews left unbroken by Castiel and Alistair's battle. The Duke held a plant mister loosely in one thickly gloved hand, and was grinning at Crowley as he swirled its contents lazily around their container.

Crowley, for his part, was mad as Hell but unable to do anything about it but hiss, snarl, threaten, and whimper. As he sat in the middle of the Trap, in more pain than anyone but Alistair and Aziraphale had ever inflicted on him, Hastur raised the plant mister again and squeezed the trigger.

Crowley could not bite back a screech as the spray of holy water hit him in the forehead, just above his eye. Hastur's grin only widened as another patch of Crowley's human skin burned away, leaving rough, reptilian scales in their place.

"I liked Ligur, Crawly," Hastur said, his voice perfectly calm. "He was a friend to me, he was."

Crowley managed to heal over the burned path on his forehead when Hastur fired another jet of holy water that caught him on his upraised hand. He yelped in pain, and looked up at Hastur with his eyes blazing. "You ssstupid piece of crap!" he snarled. "You wouldn't know a 'friend' if you ate one!"

"I've eaten plenty. So that's all right, then."

Crowley stared down at his injured hand. Most of the skin had been burned away, revealing more scales beneath. Hastur was slowly burning him away, inch by inch. He, Crowley, had been merciful…and terrified…enough to take out Ligur in one shot. Hastur, for once, seemed to have a long-term goal.

Stalling had worked for him before…

"SSSomething you should know, Hassstur," he said, managing to duck the next spray of holy water Hastur shot at his head. "That angel Alistair's got all trussssed up? He's not Aziraphale. He'ssss just some sap I tempted over here to take his place! You can bleed that host 'till it'ssss dry as dusssst, but Lucifer's not taking another ssssstep!"

Hastur shrugged.

He was all for the end of the world, of course, but it made no difference to him if they had to mangle a few extra angels in the process. He knew now that, when crisis loomed, where you found Crowley you generally found Aziraphale. He trusted Alistair to get the job done. All these were surprisingly complex thoughts, for Hastur, but he didn't bother articulating them. Instead, he took aim with the plant mister and shot Crowley with deadly accuracy in one eye.

Unbeknownst to the agonized demon…although, as Crowley went down screaming, he knew he wasn't in much of a position to notice anything…Alistair was watching this entire exchange from the end of the hallway he'd dragged Castiel down. He nodded in satisfaction. While Dean Winchester had certainly been one of his most talented pupils, sometimes there was no substitute for a demon's touch.

He knew fully well that the angel Crowley had brought him was not Aziraphale. Of course, Crowley wasn't to know that Alistair had met the celestial known as Castiel not long ago…had nearly succeeded in exorcising him, in fact. For a betrayal, it wasn't a bad effort. Unfortunately for Crowley, it also exposed for all of Hell to see his desire to protect the world and the angel known as Aziraphale. And Alistair intended to make personally certain that Crowley paid for it. A burnt-out eye would soon become the _least_ of the Serpent's worries.

Castiel was not Aziraphale, and so he could not break the Seal…yet. However, Aziraphale was an angel, and angels…no matter how judgmental, how cruel, how blind to the affairs of men…were basically honorable beings. Whatever Aziraphale's personal feelings about Crowley were, Alistair was willing to bet that Crowley had done enough _for_ him over the centuries to merit Aziraphale coming to his rescue. And he knew that Dean had formed a connection with Castiel, even if neither one would admit it. Sam and Dean would come to save Castiel simply because he was the one angel who actually cared about them.

A rather roundabout way to achieve his plans, but the ends justified the means, after all.

Alistair nodded in satisfaction as Crowley writhed in agony on the floor of the church, before turning and striding back down the hall to make sure that Castiel hadn't managed to escape.


	15. Rallying Cry

Unfortunately, the boys arrived at Aziraphale's bookshop to find it completely deserted of angels or demons. Books spread open on the table in the backroom amidst scraps of paper filled with incomprehensible calculations indicated that Aziraphale had been busy.

" _Damn_ ," said Dean, at the sight of all the books…most of which were in languages he could barely identify, let along translate.

"Guess he's taking this seriously," said Sam, also staring at the table with slightly wide eyes. He began to examine the books for anything that might be useful, ignoring the calculations because staring at them for more than a few seconds made his eyes water.

Finally, he found one particular book near the top of the pile. It seemed to be the oldest of the lot, and Sam had to fight back a sneeze as he picked it up and was assailed with the thick scent of musk.

"What'd you find?" asked Dean, looking over Sam's shoulder.

Sam glanced carefully at the front cover. "Looks like a Bible…"

"Looks like a first edition," said Dean, only half-kidding. Who knew what the angel had managed to get his hands on over the centuries? "Whatever he found has gotta be big. He circled it. This bit right here." He pointed at a circle drawn in pencil around a few lines of Latin text. "Yo, college boy. What's it say?"

Sam followed Dean's gaze, and Dean saw his lips move soundlessly as he translated in his head. Then:

_"When Eden falls with no defender, when his holy blood is shed on holy ground by tainted hands, hellfire shall eclipse the light of Heaven and Lucifer shall cast his shadow upon the world of Man."_

"…and?"

"It's probably a clue to one of the Seals." Sam suddenly blanched. "'When Eden falls with no defender'…Dean, _Aziraphale_ is Eden's defender!"

"The angel in the tartan is the key to a Seal?!" Dean demanded, raising his eyebrows. "Guess that explains why Alistair's suddenly shown his face."

"Guess so," said Sam, settling the book carefully back on the table. "You think Alistair knows about this?"

"He's Alistair," said Dean flatly. "He knows. Great, now we've _really_ got to find him. Crowley said he'd meet them here, dammit!" He paused, then continued with a growing degree of panic in his voice. "On that note, where the hell is Crowley? Where the hell is Cas?"

"We've been tricked," said Sam darkly. "I don't know how…but we've been tricked." He started off towards the door. "We've gotta find Aziraphale, _fast_."

"Right behind you," said Dean, who was.

However, they'd barely left the back room when both brothers heard the faint fluttering of wings that generally announced an angel's presence. Sure enough, when they turned back around, it was to see that Aziraphale and Uriel had appeared. Uriel looked murderous. Aziraphale looked alarmed.

"What on Earth are the two of you doing here?" he demanded.

"Thought we were _supposed_ to be here," Dean replied. "Thought you guys were supposed to be here, too."

Aziraphale shook his head dazedly. "No…no. Crowley said we should gather at your hotel room. He said it was important to keep an eye on you."

Sam raised his eyebrows, looking suddenly anxious. Dean frowned, worry gnawing at his stomach as he stared at the angel. "That's…funny, Aziraphale," he said softly. "That's _real_ funny, you know? Because Crowley dropped by our room about half an hour ago and took Castiel to meet you two _here_ , and he damn sure wasn't concerned about keeping an eye on me because he put some kind of whammy on me to make sure I couldn't tag along!" He glanced at his brother. "Congrats, Sam. I think you've just won a free 'I told you so'. I smell a _snake._ "

"It's about time," said Uriel. He stared hard at Aziraphale. "We have warned you time and time again, brother, yet you refused to listen. And now, as punishment for your misplaced faith, Castiel has fallen into the Serpent's clutches."

Aziraphale looked pale and shaken. He shook his head. "No…no, Crowley and I have certainly killed one another a few times over the years, but this is…different." He glared at Uriel. "He's different. He wants to stop this as much as I do!"

"Then why has he taken Castiel? Why has he brought Alistair to this town? Aziraphale, for once in your existence…"

Aziraphale held up a hand, palm up, and Sam and Dean found themselves drawing back as flames flickered into being.

"Uriel…" he hissed. "For _God's_ sake, _shut up this instant._ "

Letting the flames die, he turned back to Sam and Dean.

"Aziraphale…" said Sam, clearly trying hard to keep his voice reasonable. "I know you have a lot of faith in Crowley, but…well, let's look at the evidence." He was almost pleading now, because Aziraphale was suddenly looking more like a warrior of God and less like a middle-aged human. "He went out of his way to keep us separated when he _knew_ Alistair was in town, he's disappeared without a trace _with_ Castiel…"

"Exactly," said Aziraphale simply.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, but the angel did not elaborate. He crossed the small back room, brushing the Winchesters out of his way to grab the sword still resting behind the door. Hefting it easily in one hand, he glanced back at Sam…and smiled.

"I don't expect you to understand, my boy," he said understandingly. "You're both so young, after all. But I've known Crowley since before Cain killed Abel…nasty business, that." He glanced thoughtfully at his sword, and swung it absently a few times. "If I'd have known that such an unreasonable fellow would eventually be using my sword…but, I'm digressing, aren't I?" He looked from Sam to Dean to Uriel, his expression suddenly hard again. "I'm going to help them. If you don't want to help me, that's all right…it's probably better in your case, boys. But I can help. I _will_ help."

Dean sighed and held up a hand before the angel could disappear. "Hold up a sec, Aziraphale," he said with a sigh. "As far as I'm concerned, Cas is an angel I can actually stand. On top of that, I owe Alistair a _truckload_ of payback. I've got as much stake in this whole Seals mess as you do…hell, probably more. I'm in."

Sam stepped up next to his brother. "Then I guess I'm in, too," he said.

Aziraphale smiled at them both, then looked again at Uriel. Sam and Dean also looked at the other angel, who was looking uncertain and unhappy…but, finally, Uriel sighed and nodded.

"For Castiel," he said coldly. " _Only_ for Castiel."

"Quite all right!" said Aziraphale, suddenly cheerful. "Now, since I'm supposed to die 'on holy ground', Alistair will probably be keeping them both on holy ground. There's rather a large church not far from here. Seems as good a place to start as any, hm?" Suddenly, he slipped one arm through Sam's. "Uriel, if you would?"

Uriel, still looking deeply displeased about the way the situation was unfolding, laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean flinched – he would not trust Uriel as far as he could throw the bastard – but before he could open his mouth to protest both angels had vanished, whisking the two Winchesters away with them into the ether.

* * *

The trip was smooth and strange. Dean saw images flashing past him in an intermittent blur…buildings, streets, cars, trees…it was rather like riding the world's fastest hang glider.

And then Uriel hit something, some invisible force in the air, that jolted him back into the real world and forced him tumbling to the ground. The only impression Dean got of whatever had caused the halt was a flash of glowing blue light before he hit the ground with Uriel's weight on top of him.

"Get off me, junkless!" he snarled, shoving Uriel off of him and scrambling to his feet. This turned out to be a good move, because Uriel had apparently been knocked away with such impact that he'd tumbled out into the street.

Ten crowded seconds passed before Dean made it safely back to the sidewalk. Sam and Aziraphale had arrived ahead of him, and Uriel joined the group not long after.

"I'm guessing that doesn't usually happen," said Dean, making a play of dusting himself off.

Dean thought Aziraphale had looked worried back at the shop. Right now, however, the angel looked as though he was on the verge of panic. Remembering Castiel…remembering Anna's words about how emotionless angels were as a rule…Dean briefly wondered what Aziraphale would be feeling if he weren't encumbered by his angelic nature.

"No…" said Aziraphale, shaking his head. He looked towards the church, his eyes troubled. "Drat them… _drat them!_ They've placed banishing sigils on every inch of the place…we can't get closer than this."

Sam took a hesitant few steps forward. "I don't feel anything."

"Those symbols are created to keep out angels," said Uriel, who looked comparatively as unhappy as Aziraphale. "It is used by demons who wish to hide from us. From God."

"In other words…" said Aziraphale, sticking his hands nervously in the pocket of his overcoat. "I'm sorry to say that you two are on your own from here."

"Against Alistair," said Sam flatly.

"If I could help you…" said Aziraphale miserably. "Of course, Crowley is in there, so…"

"Not making us feel better," said Dean, pulling out Ruby's knife and tossing it lightly to Sam. "We'll figure something out."

"We always do," said Sam, nodding as Dean pulled out his handgun loaded with rock salt. "Don't suppose you could drop a miracle on us before we go, though?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but Aziraphale seemed to take Sam's request…seriously. He frowned, apparently mulling the request over. Then, he made a gesture across his chest that Dean vaguely recognized as the sign of the cross, and pressed a hand to the side of Sam's face. Then, in a voice that echoed with strange harmonics, he spoke.

_"And Samson called unto the Lord, and said, Oh Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only this once, O God, that I may be at once avenged of the Philistines for my two eyes."_

He spoke with a certain…hesitancy. But, from all that Dean had learned about the angel, he guessed that Aziraphale was the type to keep under God's radar. Nothing very obvious happened. A slight shiver ran through Sam, and when he opened his eyes Dean saw something strange flash through his eyes.

"Oh," said his brother. " _Wow_."

Aziraphale smiled grimly and glanced questioningly at Dean. Dean promptly held up his hands and took several steps back. "Thanks, but…I'll stick to doing things the old fashioned way," he said. "Sammy. If you're done psyching yourself up, we've got an angel to say."

Sam nodded. "Yep. We do." He handed Ruby's knife back to Dean. Dean took it, exchanged a nod with his brother, and together they strode across the church grounds to the half-open double doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those "banishment" symbols are intended to be the same ones that thwarted the angels in the "future" episode Death Takes a Holiday. Hastur was putting them in place before he came back inside to maul Crowley.


	16. Tides of Battle

Each brother took one side of the door frame and peered inside. The hall was dark, but they could vaguely make out a shadowy figure in the pews near the other end and something slumped on the floor straight down the aisle. They glanced at each other silently. Dean jerked his head towards the open door. He pointed first to himself, then to Sam, and held up five fingers.

Sam nodded. He understood. Dean nodded back and ticked off five seconds…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

Taking care to slip through the gap left for them, Dean crept inside. Sam waited until he'd gotten a few feet ahead before darting in after him. Fortunately, the carpet that ran between the rows of pews was thick enough to muffle their footsteps – the thing sitting in the pews at the end of the hall gave no sign that it had heard them, and the thing slumped on the floor below the preacher's podium did not so much as twitch.

Dean did not look back at Sam. He wanted to; he wanted to see if whatever Aziraphale had done to him had changed him. He thought ruefully that maybe the angelic and demonic influences might cancel one another out. Maybe Aziraphale had actually made Sam human again. But he didn't know for sure and, despite everything, his natural distrust of angels held him back. Castiel had worked against him before, and as for Anna…

He was halfway down the aisle, aware of Sam a few steps behind, before the thing in the pews suddenly _moved_. One second it was sitting as still as one of the gargoyles on the roof outside, the next it had gotten to its feet and closed the distance between them. Dean barely had enough time to plunge Ruby's knife into the demon's chest.

It screamed in pain, and there was the familiar flash from within its body that outlined its skeleton in a hellish yellow light. Dean pulled the blade free and tried to step back, but the demon suddenly lashed out and punched Dean in the chest with what felt like the force of a Mac Truck.

The force of the impact made him briefly black out. When he came to, he was flat on his back a good ten feet away. Pushing himself painfully onto his elbows, Dean saw that Sam had stepped in to battle their attacker…and he was holding his own! As Dean stared, wide-eyed, he saw the demon lash out with a hand that suddenly had talons instead of fingers. In a blur, Sam moved to catch the claws on one arm and retaliate with a blow to the stomach that sent the demon stumbling back and away.

Dean opinion of Aziraphale suddenly improved by several degrees. Stumbling to his feet and clutching his chest, he called out to his brother. "Sammy!"

Taking advantage of the short distance and respite gained from the battle, Sam glanced briefly back at him. "Yeah?!"

"How you holding up?!"

The demon lunged at Sam. He dodged much faster than Dean had ever seen him dodge, and it missed by a mile. Sam seemed as surprised as his brother when he replied. "Fine! Just fine! Get Castiel! I think I can handle this guy!"

Dean nodded as Sam was forced to continue the battle. Ducking his head and keeping a tight grip on Ruby's knife, he charged down the aisle. There were doors on either side of the hall near the preacher's pulpit, probably used by the church staff when the place wasn't occupied by demons. Alistair had taken Castiel down one of those hallways, thinking he was Aziraphale.

"Eenie meeny miney mo," Dean muttered grimly, glancing from one open door to the next. Jesus Christ, he didn't have time to play guessing games."

He flinched away as something grabbed his leg. Looking down, he saw that the thing he'd seen from the doorway was now both conscious and mobile, staring up at him with one weary yellow eye. The other one was a ruined, bloody mess.

It was not human…it was shaped like a human, but the similarities ended there. It was vaguely reptilian, but even classifying it as such was an insult to perfectly normal looking reptiles. It was one of the strangest things Dean had ever seen.

…but, as he stared at it in revulsion, it pushed a pair of cracked sunglasses further up onto its face and smirked at him. _Smirked_. And, as Dean recovered from his shock enough to see other details, he saw that it had short black hair on top of its scaly head and was dressed in what must have once been a very stylish suit.

Crowley raised a hand and pointed over Dean's shoulder to one of the hallways. Dean followed his gaze and shrugged. What else did he have to go on?

"Hasssssstur."

He glanced back at the demon, who was still staring at him. He hadn't recognized Crowley's voice – it had truly sounded like a serpent's hiss. Dean saw the Devil's Trap holding Crowley in place, and understood.

Pulling out his handgun, he aimed at the floor and fired. The bullet took a chunk out of the floor and a chunk out of the Trap. Crowley nodded his thanks and struggled back to his feet before hurrying towards the battle.

With an angel's blessing and a demon's aid, Dean had to believe that his brother would be all right. Keeping his grip on Ruby's knife and reloading his handgun, Dean hurried off down the hallway.

The hallway was lined with doors, most of which were probably locked. One, however, was standing slightly ajar. Suspecting a trap but with no alternative, Dean eased the door open and peered inside.

It seemed to be some sort of office – Dean vaguely remembered uncomfortable hours in offices like these, years ago. Priests sat here, didn't they? This was where they heard confessionals nowadays, wasn't it? He didn't remember. Churches had always been a place of safety for Sam and Sam alone.

Whatever this room had once been, Alistair had commandeered it. Most of the furnishings had been pushed against the wall, including the carpet. On the floor below, a large mystical circle had been drawn, glowing softly in the absence of any other light. Dean didn't recognize the symbol itself, but he did recognize the angel laying spread-eagled and apparently unconscious in the middle of it.

"Castiel!"

It seemed to take a long time for Dean's words to reach the angel's ears, and that was strange. Castiel slowly opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and finally tilted his head to look at him.

"Dean?" he asked. His voice was heavy and slow. It echoed strangely, as though the angel was at the other end of a long tunnel rather than a few feet away. He tried to get to his feet, but it seemed to take a great deal of effort. He barely made it to his knees before he had to pause, panting a little. "Dean?"

"What the hell is this?" Dean risked inching his way a little further into the room closing the door behind him. "What the hell happened to you?!"

The angel slowly shook his head. "Dean…you _fool_."

Dean felt a hand laid on his shoulder before he was forcibly turned around and found himself face-to-face with a smiling Alistair. He raised Ruby's knife, but Alistair swatted it easily out of his hand and the blade went spinning away across the room. Dean heard Castiel weakly call his name, but he could not reply as Alistair locked two demonically strong hands around his throat.


	17. The Last Minute Was Five Minutes Ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...this chapter's also got some pretty heavy spoilers for On the Head of a Pin. As do a few chapters afterwards. And one chapter has a pretty major spoiler for Lucifer Rising. You know what? If you haven't seen the entire season by now, go do that. Go. Shoo. This fic will still be here when you get back.

Aziraphale and Uriel stood outside the church, at the very limits of the sigil's power. They were able to see the battle through the open church doors. For the moment, things appeared to be even. Sam was holding his own against Hastur, and as they watched a misshapen reptilian _thing_ that only Aziraphale recognized as Crowley leapt at Hastur and sank his fangs into the side of the Duke's neck.

And yet…

"You're troubled," said Uriel, without taking his eyes off the distant battlefield.

"Deeply," said Aziraphale, who did not do so either.

"I must say, I can't understand why. You just gave young Sam the strength of Samson himself. Surely, that would be enough to ensure their victory."

Aziraphale snorted in uncharacteristic derision. "Yes. Well," he said. "Remember what happened to Samson, Uriel?" He folded his arms and turned his gaze to the grass beneath their feet. "And he had made a pact with _God_ , no less. He was born to hold that sort of power. Sam Winchester…" he sighed. "Demon blood, no less. Drat it all."

"Why, then? Why willingly put the boy in danger. You seem so fond of them."

"What choice did I have?!" demanded Aziraphale, his voice unusually bitter. "They're resourceful, creative, and brave…everything I admire about human beings, you know. But…"

"…They're only human," Uriel finished.

Aziraphale nodded curtly. "Against a Duke. I swear to you, Uriel, I'd only ever risk crossing paths with Duke Hastur at a time like this." He finally looked up at his fellow angel, his eyes filled with what, on a human, would be desperation. "I _would_ face him now, Uriel. For Crowley, for Castiel, for every human on this wonderful planet and most especially for those two boys! But I can't take another step, and we both know it! Uriel…you were once one of God's most powerful weapons. Can't you…?"

Uriel shook his head. "I no longer have that kind of power. You know that, Aziraphale."

"Nor do I!" Aziraphale's fists clenched at his sides as he looked back at the battle raging on inside the church. "Oh… _damn_ it. If only I weren't…weren't _such an angel_ …"

Uriel was about to chastise his blasphemous brother, when Aziraphale suddenly froze, mouth open, eyes wide.

" _Oh_ ," he murmured. "Yes…yes, _of course_."

And, without further warning, he vanished.

Uriel stared at the spot where he had been for a few minutes. A few hours ago, the idea of the Winchesters dying at Alistair's hands would have pleased him. It was no more than hellspawn like them deserved. He considered Crowley unworthy of the holy power that had created him to Fall. However, as for Aziraphale…

…Aziraphale was infernally tainted. His very association with Crowley over the years had left him with a tie to Hell, even if neither Aziraphale nor Crowley were aware of it. However, Aziraphale's taint had given him a worldview beyond the reach of most angels. He was slightly beyond Heaven, and so he could better understand Hell. Better understand the Lord of Hell. Better understand the majesty of Lucifer.

In another time and place, Uriel might have even consented to work with Crowley. It would have been worth the time spent in the Serpent's company for the chance that Aziraphale might join his cause. But now that Aziraphale had proved to be one of the keys to Lucifer's resurrection…

…well, no war came without sacrifices.

But not Castiel.

He had fought with Castiel for centuries, standing back to back with him against that which would threaten Heaven's will, back when Uriel had _believed_ in Heaven's will. No matter who he served, there was no changing the fact that Castiel was his brother.

Some of their garrison had accepted his offer, and had been saved.

Some had refused, and had been condemned.

However, until Uriel knew for certain which path Castiel would take…he could not abandon hope. He had to pray for his brother to see the light. Until that day…until he knew…

Lucifer could wait. And Alistair could _die_.

Uriel disregarded the street behind him. Busy humans in their strange metal chariots, dashing to and fro on meaningless late-night affairs. They were completely ignorant of the battle taking place such a short distance away. Uriel had never given humans much attention, and here and now they were even less important.

However, he became suddenly aware that one particular car seemed to be approaching the church. Turning in the direction of the oncoming noise, Uriel at first saw only a pair of headlights, approaching at speed. Behind them, he made out the form of an old fashioned black car carrying an unmistakable aura of demonic presence…

Uriel stepped neatly out of the way as the Bentley sped past him. It did not slow down as it hit the church doors, shattering them in their frames. It did not slow down as it barreled through the cathedral, splintering pews as it passed. One of the three combatants was quick enough to get out of the way. The other two found themselves ploughed into by the ancient car and the battle ended there.

The Bentley had spent several decades in Crowley's company. It was unmistakably a demon's car, and so it masked Aziraphale's presence enough to make it past the banishment sigils. It even provided enough of an opening for Uriel to teleport himself into the church in the vehicle's wake.

By the time Aziraphale mentally hit the breaks, he'd demolished a good deal of the hall. He forced open the door and got out to survey the damage.

There was a lot. He wasn't worried about the damage to the room itself – that was easily reparable. But the damage to the combatants…

…Crowley was worst off. He must have been gravely wounded even before he'd been hit by his own car, but Aziraphale still forgot to breathe when he caught sight of his friend, collapsed against one of the front wheels. Sam had actually been knocked away by the impact, but he was still conscious. He smiled a little dazedly when Aziraphale glanced over at him.

"Nice entrance," he said. "Bad timing."

Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that, my boy." He laid a hand on the hood of the car. "I admit that cars have always confounded me a little."

"Speaking as Dean's brother…you and me both." Sam made it back to his feet and hurriedly closed the distance between them. " _His_ car, at least. So…I take it you're the cavalry?"

Aziraphale and Sam turned back to face Hastur, who had escaped the raging Bentley without a scratch.

"I do believe," Aziraphale said calmly. "That I have just arrived in what Crowley calls 'the nick of time.'

He pulled his sword out of the Bentley, ignited it, and pointed it at the last demon standing.

"Duke Hastur, I presume?" he asked politely. "A pleasure to meet you."

By the time Uriel entered the church a few seconds later, the battle had already begun again in earnest. Aziraphale was strong for a Principality and he had imbued Sam with the strength of one of the Judges, but Hastur was a Duke of Hell. Aziraphale fought with anger and holy fire on his side, Sam fought with heavenly strength and human desperation, but Uriel knew that without assistance they would lose…

…without assistance…

_When his holy blood is shed on holy ground by tainted hands…_

Uriel checked himself.

Perhaps the situation could still work to his advantage.

Aziraphale was absorbed in the battle, fighting tooth and nail. Sam, too, was fighting bravely, but the miracle Aziraphale had bestowed on him was temporary. The sudden loss of his sudden strength would then weaken him to the point of collapse, and Sam Winchester would no longer be a threat.

That left the matter of Crawly.

The demon was only just regaining consciousness. His one remaining eye was half-open as he apparently worked to recognize his surroundings and remember what had happened to him.

He looked up as Uriel approached him, and let out a threatening hiss. Uriel ignored it. Crowley tried to struggle to his feet as the angel kept coming, but wound up having to brace himself on the Bentley's front bumper for support.

"As'rafale…" he hissed softly. His voice was weak and barely human and so not even Aziraphale heard him over the sounds of battle raging a short distance away. Uriel saw him swallow before he tried again, in a voice that was slightly less of a hiss. "Aziraphale…you…stupid…"

He gasped in pain as Uriel slammed him against the hood of the Bentley and held him there. He tried desperately to twist around to get enough leverage to sink his fangs into Uriel's wrists, but to no avail.

After a few brief seconds of struggle, Crowley seemed to surrender and simply stared up at Uriel with his one good eye.

"I know why your lot hatesssss me," he said, in between frantic and unnecessary gasps for breath. " 'f it weren't for me, people like SSSSam and Dean wouldn't exissst. 'f it weren't for me, you'd be free to sssssset Lucifer on Him without getting messsed around." He smiled like a snake. "Free will's a bitch, isn't it? But you might want to try it, Uriel. Casssstiel ssssseemssss to enjoy it."

"I always thought you'd be the type for better last words, Crawly," said Uriel calmly, and those were the last words spoken by either being before he forcibly exorcised the Serpent of Eden.

Aziraphale, Sam, and Hastur all heard Crowley scream, but Aziraphale was the first to react. Ignoring Sam's cry of "Aziraphale, wait!", he flashed across the intervening space and, by the time Crowley was dead, he was inches away from Uriel and bringing his sword around…


	18. At Alastair's Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here? After that last chapter? I'm flattered. And appreciative. After all, the story's not over yet...not by a long shot.

Uriel ducked, and punched. There was an unpleasantly organic sound as he drove his fist so hard into Aziraphale's stomach that he broke skin. Aziraphale froze, and stared down in slight surprise at Uriel's hand sunk into his stomach and the blood staining his favorite overcoat.

Slowly, Uriel pulled his hand free. It was coated with the other angel's blood. A few stray drops of it fell silently to the floor of the church, staining the polished wood.

Aziraphale staggered back, clutching at his bleeding stomach, suddenly and very obviously weakened. His eyes went wide as he suddenly realized what Uriel had known from the start.

_The only thing that can kill an angel is another angel._

He was afraid, now. Uriel could see it etched plainly on his face.

_Good._

Uriel held out a hand, and his own blade…the Sword of Lucifer…materialized. He heard Aziraphale gasp at the sight of the sword – the sword that had already killed those angels foolish enough to oppose Uriel and his mission.

Aziraphale turned and ran, apparently using all his remaining strength to put as much distance between himself and Uriel…or as much distance between the inevitable battle between them and the lone human…as possible. Uriel didn't care either way. Aziraphale was wounded and weak – even he couldn't run forever now.

Aziraphale had barely passed beyond the reach of the sigils when he was forced to turn and block Uriel's sword strike. The flames still wreathing Aziraphale's weapon gave the faces of both angels an infernal edge as the battle began in earnest. Aziraphale's face was lit by anger and desperation. Uriel's, on the other hand, was completely devoid of emotion.

No war came without sacrifices.

* * *

Sam could understand Aziraphale's rage, but he did not appreciate being suddenly left alone against Hastur. Whatever Aziraphale had used to give him his newfound strength and speed seemed to be wearing off, and Sam knew that when it did he would be nothing more than a temporary distraction.

_Better make this quick, then._

"What's with you, then?!" Hastur demanded, as Sam blocked his punch on one arm and returned the blow with interest with the other.

"I've been wondering that a lot lately," said Sam grimly as he successfully forced Hastur away again. Five minutes ago he would have made the demon double over with a blow like that. He kicked Hastur in the stomach before his opponent could right himself and backed away, frantically trying to figure out his next move. Right now, he was starting to wish he'd kept Ruby's knife for himself…

…no. Dean was potentially facing Alistair alone. He needed it more. Besides, there was one more trick Sam Winchester had up his sleeve…

Hastur jerked convulsively as Sam extended a hand towards him, clenched his fists and called up his power. A few stray wisps of black smoke oozed out of the demon's mouth, but other than suddenly becoming much angrier than before Hastur didn't seem to be much affected. He took a few steps forward, and grinned horribly, showing a mouthful of fangs.

" _You_ …" he hissed. "Oh, I've heard… _tales told_ …about _you_ …Azazel's little _whelp_ , you are…"

Sam took an equal number of steps back and tried harder, calling on every drop of power, every bit of demon blood that ran through his veins and every bit he'd drunk from Ruby earlier that night.

Hastur froze, and vomited up more smoke. Sam flashed back to last Halloween, and for an instant the nightmarish figure of Samhain stood before him, vomiting his own essence free of his human host but still refusing to stop, coming closer and closer and closer…

His heart was beginning to pound and his vision was beginning to haze, but Sam kept up his assault. And Hastur continued to feel its effects. It was apparently only with great force of will that the demon continued to move forward, and with even greater force of will that Sam managed to move back. Hastur reached out one, clawed hand and hissed like a snake, like Crowley, black smoke now pouring in hellish waves from his gaping mouth…

His heartbeat was weakening, his headache was strengthening, and Sam felt like he would snap into a thousand pieces at any second. He was alone against a demon that was one of the strongest he'd ever seen. Crowley was dead, Uriel had apparently lost his mind, Castiel was captured, Dean was alone against Alistair…

_Dean was alone…_

Dean was alone against the demon that had tormented him in Hell. _His brother was alone against his worst nightmare._

_No._

It wasn't just demonic power fueling Sam's attack now. He poured Aziraphale's gift into the mix, using the angelic's inherent hatred of the demonic. He mixed the two influences into something suddenly all his own.

His _own_ power.

For a moment…one shining moment…he was not tainted by demon blood, pretending to himself that his curse was a gift, betraying his brother's trust. He was simply Sam Winchester, using every trick at his disposal to end the fight and get back to Dean. In that moment of perfect clarity, Sam took one last deep breath and focused all his will on Hastur.

Hastur stumbled back. He glowed suddenly from within, a harsh yellow light that left his bones outlined against his skin. His body flickered and flashed, his mouth opened wide in a soundless scream as the light grew brighter and brighter, until the demon Hastur was little more than a blurred outline…

Sam was forced to close his eyes or be blinded by the light, and even then he still saw spots dancing before his eyes when he opened them again. When his vision cleared, he saw Hastur collapsed like a broken puppet on the floor, eyes glassy and wide. It was easy to see that the body was dead…

_…not just the body…_

Sam felt his breath catch in his throat as the realization stole over him. He had not fully banished Hastur – he'd still been vomiting his own essence out when the strange light had appeared.

What if… _what if…_

The sounds of the real world were filtering back through the headache and the pain and the growing weakness brought on by Aziraphale's miracle wearing off. Sam heard the clash of metal from outside the ruined doors, and a heavy _thump_ from down one of the hallways leading off this main hall. A _thump_ …and a familiar cry of pain.

"Dean…" he rasped. " _Dean…_ "

Stumbling a little as the use of his powers began to take its toll, Sam hurried off down the hallway his brother had gone earlier in the battle.

He prayed to a God that he wasn't sure he believed in any more after all he'd seen this year that he wasn't too late.

* * *

_"You only hurt the one you love the most, baby…"_

Ever since his return from Hell, Dean had begun to notice that pain and panic tended to skewer his perception of time. Once upon a time, he would have known how long a fight lasted down to the second. Now…five minutes or five hours might have passed since Alistair nearly choked him out before throwing him halfway across the room. Dean couldn't tell.

Of course, Alistair's singing certainly wasn't helping him think.

_"You only had to make me cry…"_

His voice was rasping and cold…just like it had been back in Hell, but now some poor human was being forced to speak for him.

The room where Castiel was being kept was largely taken up by Castiel's prison. Alistair was apparently unwilling to let either Dean or himself come into contact with it, and so he'd dragged the fight back into the hall. Alistair was Hell's master of torture and interrogation, but when push came to shove he was no one to screw around with when the fists started flying.

He'd spent the last ten minutes carefully reminding Dean of this fact.

 _"Cause you left me…all alone…"_ he crooned as he pressed his foot into the back of Dean's neck. The Hunter lay sprawled on the hallway floor.

Ruby's knife was gone. Alistair had knocked it out of his hand and certainly hadn't given him any time to look for it. Dean knew that he probably looked like death warmed over before being stuck back in the microwave because it hadn't heated all the way through. Castiel was well and truly trapped…whatever that magic circle was doing, it was leaving him weaker by the second.

 _"You left me to stand alone…"_ Alistair chuckled dryly and let the pressure on the back of Dean's neck increase. "Well, Dean, you did. You had a really promising future ahead of you down there, you know? I really _liked_ you. I can't remember the last time a human impressed me as much as you did."

"Well…what can I say?" Dean managed to laugh, a laugh as raspy as his voice and a laugh that made his lower lip start bleeding again. "Just ask Dad…always was a disappointment, I guess…"

This got a laugh out of Alistair…he really was only at his happiest when he had someone at his mercy, the bastard…

"Well, then…" the demon purred, and Dean felt the foot removed from the back of his neck before he was forcibly hauled to his feet. "You're in luck, my boy…I find myself in a giving mood today. I think I can offer you another chance."

Another chance at torturing? Dean opened his mouth to tell Alistair to shove his "chance" up his borrowed ass, but one of his broken ribs was jostled as Alistair "helped" him back into the room where Castiel was being held and he was forced to abandon a smart reply in favor of clenching his jaw to bite back a pained gasp.

"Oh, but don't worry…I know you've probably gotten rusty after spending so much time with the meat suits. That's fine, Dean, just fine…because lucky for you, we just happen to have a practice dummy with us for tonight only…"

And, as the pain faded and Dean's vision cleared, he realized that there was only one other person in the room with them, standing trapped and helpless a few feet away.

Alistair really was only at his happiest when he had someone at his mercy.

That someone, Dean realized, had just become Castiel.

Castiel knew it, too. He'd only just made it back to his feet, and Dean saw the his eyes go wide. He saw the faintest traces of fear begin to suffuse the angel's face; he remembered that Castiel had tried to fight Alistair when they'd last met over the issue of Anna and had come off the worse for it.

Castiel was not a human, but he possessed a human body and therefore he possessed the typical range of human nervous ticks. As far as it was possible to read the emotions of an angel, Dean knew that, by now, he could read Castiel pretty well. And that was why the brief emotional conflict that flickered over Castiel's face might as well have been a war.

Dean saw doubt on the angel's face…doubt, because Dean had once been fully capable of doing just what Alistair was trying to tempt him to do. Of course, none of the demons of Hell had _ever_ succeeded in capturing an angel, let alone torturing one.

"Angels don't bleed," Dean said softly, saying his thoughts aloud and suddenly unable to look away from the figure in the magic circle. "Angels don't die. You can't torture something like that."

"Oh, don't worry about that." He almost heard Alistair smirk. "We have what you might call an 'inside man.' I'm sure he can give us a few pointers. So, Dean…what do you say? That seal will keep him powerless for quite a while, even if I choose to break it. What's say you take a little…break, hm? After all, I can't put you back together up here. What's say you take a little break and try your hand at breaking him?"

Dean felt himself released, and he stumbled a bit because Alistair had dislocated his knee a few minutes ago. He looked at Castiel…and thought of Sam…

"Alistair…" he whispered.

"Hm?"

Dean took a deep breath, tried to steady himself on his feet, and turned to face Alistair. He suddenly found himself grinning as he took great pleasure in saying:

"Go… _back_ …to hell."


	19. Their Work Here Is Done

Alistair growled low in his throat. He was _angry_ , now, but Dean continued to smile. He suddenly knew something Alistair didn't…

"I don't see what's so _funny_ ," Alistair snarled.

"No," said Dean. "I guess you don't. Hey, Sammy? How're you holding up?"

It was human instinct that caused Alistair to glance over his shoulder just in time to get punched right in the face by Sam Winchester. The demon staggered away, giving both brothers enough time to exchange looks.

"Fine," said Sam. "Still got some angel juice left. How 'bout you?"

Dean shrugged, then winced and clutched his shoulder. "How do I look?"

"Like crap."

As one, they turned towards Alistair, who was only just recovering and who looked ready to rip something to pieces.

"I'll take your word for it," Dean said.

Sam stepped between Alistair and Dean, and his brother indeed apparently had enough angel juice left to hold his own. He was nowhere near as fast or as strong as he'd been when he'd fought Hastur – that much was clear. But he wasn't getting the crap beaten out of him, and so Dean took that as a hopeful sign.

Rock salt wouldn't do a bit of good as a weapon against a being as strong as Alistair, so Dean decided to use his brief respite to search desperately for Ruby's knife. Even that wouldn't hurt Alistair _badly_ , but Sam was losing steam and it was the best weapon they had.

"Looking for this?"

Dean looked around to see Castiel. The angel looked dead on his feet by now, but he was holding Ruby's knife out for Dean to take.

To do so, he would have to cross the magic circle, but…

Dean reached for the knife. As his hand passed the boundaries of the sigils drawn on the floor, he felt… _something_. The air suddenly adopted the consistency of cold syrup, and his arm almost immediately went numb. Dean clenched his jaw tightly and forced himself to fight through the haze – after what felt like far too long, he felt his fingers close on the hilt of the knife…

He smirked at the angel. "We're even."

Castiel nodded, and then with an almighty effort Dean yanked his arm back. He whirled to face Alistair just in time to see Sam go down…

Dean lunged. He raised the knife and, by the time Alistair heard his yell of fury and began to turn, he had already jammed the blade into the back of the demon's neck. A flickering flash of yellow light emanated from the wound, and Alistair turned around to punch Dean in the ribs. The one he'd already broken started to burn in pain again, and Dean found himself forced to back off.

Alistair…paused. He looked at Dean, who was clutching his chest and panting for air. He looked at Castiel, who was exhausted from having to fight his way through whatever the magic circle had done to him. He looked at Sam, who was slumped against the wall and suddenly looking as though he were on the verge of passing out.

And then…he looked up towards the ceiling, towards the sky, and smiled in apparent satisfaction.

"Well…" he said. With a sickening sound of metal on bone, he pulled Ruby's knife free and let it clatter to the ground. "I'd say my work here is done, wouldn't you?"

He did not abandon his host, which was what Dean expected him to do. Instead, he simply nodded politely at the Winchesters and the angel, turned on his heel, strode out into the hallway, and walked brusquely out of sight.

Dean considered following him…but only briefly. Instead, he stuck Ruby's knife through his belt and went to check on Sam.

"Sam?" he asked cautiously, kneeling down beside his brother. "Sammy? What happened?"

Sam shook his head dazedly. "I…I don't know. One minute I'm fine, the next…" He took a deep breath and let his head rest against the wall. "Guess my time's up. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah…yeah." Sam waved him away. "Feel dead on my feet, but it's probably nothing some caffeine wouldn't fix."

Dean nodded, deciding that he could probably take Sam's word for it. Leaving his little brother to rest, he got back to his feet and turned back to Castiel. "Hey, Cas? Any idea what the deal is with that circle?"

"It's been siphoning my power," said Castiel, his voice still echoing strangely and the air still humming around him. "The more I tried to escape, the more power it could use to keep me imprisoned."

"A closed circuit for the supernatural, huh?" Dean shook his head tiredly. "Am I likely to get fried if I let you out?"

"I am…uncertain. It might be wise to shield your eyes, in any case."

Dean nodded. A few blind strikes and slashes to the floor with Ruby's knife proved to be enough to break the magic circle. He felt something pass through the room like a high wind, and then heard Castiel's careful, measured steps.

Dean risked opening his eyes, and let Castiel help him to his feet. He gave the angel a once-over. "Cas, you look like you just got hit by a truck."

Castiel nodded – he really did look truly _tired_. "It was…a very thorough binding spell. Dean, you're hurt."

Leave it to Cas to cut to the chase. Dean smiled grimly. "I'll live."

"Aziraphale has the ability to heal humans. He will help you."

"Sounds good." Dean went back to Sam and hauled his brother to his feet. "Easy, Sammy. One foot in front of the other."

Sam nodded blearily. He had to lean a little on Dean, but he'd sustained far less in the way of injuries.

Together Sam, Dean, and Castiel left the room. They limped down the hallway and reached the main church hall without getting attacked. The church hall itself was empty, except for the errant Bentley.

"Where are they?" asked Castiel. "Uriel…Aziraphale…Crowley…"

"Crowley got fried," said Sam. He sounded uncharacteristically bitter for someone who'd believed Crowley to be their enemy an hour ago. "Uriel got him while we were fighting Hastur and…banished him, or killed him, or whatever the hell you guys do to demons when you get your hands on them. Aziraphale went ballistic and attacked him…the last I saw, they were outside."

This news was not well received by Castiel. He shook his head, looking troubled. "That is…not like Uriel."

"What, you mean smiting first and asking questions later?" Dean asked. "Seems exactly like Uriel to me." He glanced up at Sam. "It also seems pretty quiet out there."

Sam nodded.

The walk across the ruined hall seemed to take years. Sam was no longer leaning on Dean, because it was clear to all of them that Dean could barely support his own weight. Castiel led the way, and so he was the first to emerge from the church into the small yard outside.

Dean heard him gasp, and that was odd. It was rare that Castiel was ever truly surprised. But then, with Sam at his side, he drew nearer to Castiel. Then, and only then, he saw for himself what had scared the angel enough to stop him dead in his tracks.

It was Aziraphale.

The angel was sprawled on the ground. His arms were flung wide – he lay as though crucified. His camelhair overcoat was stained with blood, his throat lay torn open, and a trickle of blood oozed across his face from a wound in his head. His blue eyes were glassy and blank. He lay unmoving on the ground, staring at Heaven far above.

Sam and Dean came to the same horrible, impossible realization at the same time and it left them both breathless and shaken.

"He's…dead," Sam whispered.

His brother seemed rooted to the spot by shock, but Dean suddenly found that he was walking. Some of the ground around Aziraphale was burned as though by a fire. Dean found himself tracing the area, walking from where the charring started by Aziraphale's shoulder and following it for several feet.

By the time he'd paced from one end of the burned grass to the other and back to his starting place by Sam, Dean knew that his brother was right.

The ground had been burned like a brand in the shape of a pair of outspread angel's wings.

After that, he found that he could think of only one thing to say.

"Are we still on church property?"

Sam nodded. Dean swallowed painfully, and looked back at him.

"Guess Alistair was right," he said, his voice hoarse. "His work here…is done."


	20. Hiding from Heaven, Remembering Hell

Castiel left them soon after that – although he took care to ask the boys if they would be all right alone, which was strange even for Castiel. Sam, after a quick exchange on his cell phone, assured him that they would be. Castiel then vanished to parts unknown, taking Aziraphale's body with him. The Winchesters found themselves left alone on the church's front lawn.

"You think Uriel did this?" Dean asked, barely a few seconds after Castiel had left them.

Sam looked grim. "Who else _could_ have done this, Dean? Hastur never left my sight, Crowley was gone, Castiel was caught and Alistair was busy beating you like a rug."

Dean nodded. "I guess that's it, then. Well, it wasn't exactly a secret that they hated each other's ethereal guts."

"Yeah…" Sam shook his head. "I guess I never thought that they _could_ attack one another. I mean…I know now that most of the things I've been taught about angels were garbage. I get that. Still, they're supposed to be _united_ , right? I mean…they all serve God, and if Castiel's any indication, that's about it."

"Exactly," said Dean bitterly. "United. Tin soldiers, all in a row. Aziraphale was _different_ , Sam. He owned a bookshop and hung out with a demon and he actually gave a damn about us. And Uriel killed him for it. Him and Crowley. Hell, even Crowley didn't fit in to the way that bastard saw the world. He wanted to protect us."

Sam sighed. "Run that by me again, Dean. _I_ thought we had to go through that whole song and dance _because_ of Crowley."

"Aziraphale trusted Crowley. You really think that if Crowley had asked Aziraphale to come here that he wouldn't have? Instead, he sent him off to Uriel, probably knowing full well that Uriel would immediately start trying to keep Aziraphale away. It was a cheap trick…but something tells me that he probably didn't have many other options, Sam. Killing Castiel wouldn't break the Seal." Dean sighed and shrugged, forgetting his torn shoulder and wincing. "Not his fault his own side didn't trust him."

"Yeah…" said Sam, resting his chin in one hand and looking thoughtfully at Dean. "About that…there's something else that's been bugging me."

"What?"

"Why do _you_ trust him, Dean? Matter of fact, why do you _care?_ I mean…he may have gotten the wrong angel, he may even have gotten the wrong angel on _purpose_ , but for all intents and purposes he _betrayed_ us. He led us to Alistair…he's the reason you had to fight him all over again!" Sam gestured at Dean, managing with a wave of his hand to cover at least a dozen cuts, bruises, and breaks. Taking a deep breath, Sam plunged on. "What's been bugging me is…did you two know one another? From Hell? The few times I saw him looking at you…the times you talked…he seemed to know you, Dean. I couldn't convince myself otherwise."

There was silence between the two brothers for a second as Dean stared at Sam with an uncharacteristically thoughtful look on his face. Then…

"Yeah. Yeah, we met. Once. Just once."

"Do you remember anything about it?"

Dean broke their locked gazes and stared across the lawn, stared without really seeing. "Yeah." He rolled up the sleeves of his left arm, exposing the hand print scar on his shoulder. "Day I got this. We met on my last day in Hell."

Sam swallowed. "Did he…I mean, he didn't…"

"Torture me? Nah. I was Alistair's little pet by then. Nobody touched me except him. Matter of fact, when I first saw him, I got the impression he just didn't have the stomach for it. Way he looked at Alistair, I even wondered if he'd spent some time on the rack himself."

Dean looked back at Sam, his expression suddenly stony. "You wanna know why I trusted him, Sammy? You want to know why I can't bring myself to hate him even after all this hassle he's put us through?"

Sam nodded. Dean took a deep breath, then started to speak.

"I trust Crowley because I was down there for forty years, Sam. Forty years…and the first bit of real compassion I ever saw was from him." He smiled bitterly. "He looked like some lovechild of a garden snake and a meth addict, but…he lied to Alistair, just to get him away from me. He took the knife out of my hand, and…"

_"Dean?"_

_The_ thing _was horrible – everything was horrible down here, ugly and maligned and bloody, but this thing standing before him was somehow even more so. It held the knife it had taken from him delicately between what he could only assume were its thumb and forefinger, as though it were something disgusting that the demon couldn't bare to touch. But it had addressed him without shouting, without punctuating its words with a knife or a blow._

_"Dean Winchester, right?" Now the thing sounded impatient, but not angry. As Dean forced himself to calm down, he saw that its yellow eyes held more than a little fear._

_Dean forced himself to swallow, forced himself to remember_ how _to speak beyond frightened monosyllables. "Y-Yeah…yeah, that's me."_

_The demon smiled. It had a wide mouth, and fangs like a snake. It slipped an arm around his shoulder almost companionably._

_"Well, that's a lucky break," it said, suddenly sounding practically cheerful. "If you weren't, we'd both be in for it. But, since you are…" The demon stared up, through the spiderweb of chains that crisscrossed Hell, past the ruined souls of the damned. Dean followed his gaze, and saw a light…distant, but impossibly bright after his time in the darkness. "…I've got good news. Congrats. You're going home."_

"I thought he was lying, at first…wasn't the first time someone had played that trick on me. Thought he was lying to me just to give Alistair another excuse to have his fun. But he didn't exactly give me a choice in the matter…"

_"Alistair's going to be back any second. I'm in for it either way, but Charlie's Angels up there will have an easier time of it if we've got some distance on him." Without waiting for him to protest further, the demon grabbed him in a vice-like grip around the wrist and started off, balancing precariously on the chains. "Sorry, but if you don't get out I will_ never _hear the end of it from either side. I'll help you up a bit. Not all the way, because there are things I won't do even for Aziraphale. Still, I can ease the way a bit. You coming or not, Dean?"_

_Dean managed to stumble after him without losing his balance. "Yeah…yeah. I'm coming." Swallowing, because his throat was suddenly drier than it had ever been even in his time down here, he found himself staring up again at the light. "What is that?"_

_"Your ticket out of here." It suddenly stiffened and released him – when Dean returned his attention to their path, he saw why. A demon, probably newborn since it still vaguely resembled its human form, was hurrying across an intersecting chain straight for them. His rescuer bared its fangs. "Don't you dare move!" it growled, before lunging for their would-be attacker._

"I suppose I should be glad that we never ran into anything like Hastur, but Crowley tore through anything that tried to stop us. I was _scared_ , Sam…I though I'd gone from being Alistair's bitch to the chew toy of something worse. But I followed him. Those last ten years…I had to hope. He helped me up towards where Cas was waiting…he helped me come back here."

_"W-Wait…you shouldn't be doing this. Alistair…"_

_"…will probably cut me up so fine he could use what was left for violin strings." The thing shuddered, but smiled at him. "Wouldn't be the first time." He…Dean had become fairly certain that his rescuer was a "he"…looked up at the light once again, and Dean followed his gaze. It was a good deal closer now, close enough that the shadows were being pushed back. "Besides…rather him than them." He looked again at Dean, sadly. "Can't go any further than this. They won't like to see me. I'll see if I can at least stop anybody coming up after you." He gave him a little shove towards their destination. "Go, bless it!"_

_Dean stumbled a little, and looked back at the demon. "W-Wait? Who are you?! Why are you doing this?"_

_The demon smiled up at him, and suddenly it seemed…almost human._

_"Dean…" it said. "I'll be praying that you don't remember a single blessed second of any of this. Go!"_

_Dean swallowed, but turned away and continued his journey up towards the light. Soon he was enveloped in it – it blinded him and burned him. He remembered screaming, struggling away, fighting to return to the dark shadows of Hell. Something gripped his shoulder in an inescapable grip…_

"I didn't say anything because…well, he never told me his name. I saw him, and…he looked familiar. But he didn't say anything, so neither did I."

Sam seemed to want to reply, but both Hunters suddenly found themselves with a pair of headlights shining in their faces. They managed to get to their feet, averting their gazes from the sudden brightness, but Sam laid a hand on Dean's arm as he pulled out Ruby's knife.

The Impala pulled smoothly into the church driveway, and Ruby got out of the driver's seat after killing the engine. She hurried over to them, worry etched plainly on her face.

"Are you both okay?!" she asked anxiously.

"Tired," said Sam.

"Bruised," added Dean.

"But we'll live," finished Sam. "We're just…a bit too tired and bruised to drive. Thanks, Ruby."

Ruby smiled weakly. "Least I could do, I guess. Seeing as how I was lucky enough to miss all the fun. God…Hastur, Alistair…I guess I should just be happy that you both are in one piece."

"We sure are," said Dean. He looked up at Sam and pointed at Ruby. "She's driving my car?"

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Dean, it's less than ten blocks to the hospital!"

"No hospital," said the Winchesters as one.

"At least…not tonight," said Sam, as Ruby opened her mouth to protest.

"Hospitals require explanations," added Dean. "And I am too damn tired to describe imaginary muggers. Just drop us off back at the motel, Ruby. We'll manage."

Ruby still looked as though she did not approve of their plan, but nodded without further complaint and led the way back to the car. She took the driver's seat, and – love for his car overcoming dislike of the demon driving it – Dean sat in the passenger's seat. Sam laid himself down in the backseat, and they'd barely reached the street by the time he was snoring.

It was approximately fifteen minutes before the Impala pulled into the parking lot of their motel, in which time Dean filled Ruby in on what had happened since they'd last seen each other earlier that morning. Sam was out like a log, and Ruby ended up using her demonic strength to half carry, half drag him inside. Dean limped after her, and sat down on his bed with a sigh of relief.

"Are you both going to be okay?" Ruby asked, as she helped Sam collapse as painlessly as possible onto his own bed.

Dean nodded. "Yeah…I'll just take some aspirin and try not to roll over in my sleep. Sam can drive us over to a real doctor in the morning."

Ruby nodded cautiously. "If you say so." She turned to leave…and then paused, and glanced over her shoulder. "Dean?"

"Hm?"

"I don't suppose…you remember where you left Crowley's Bentley, do you?"

"Why?"

"It's a good car," said Ruby, her voice taking on a defensive edge. "And…I don't think I'd feel right leaving it out for just anybody to take. Crowley loved that car more than he's ever loved anything else."

Dean supposed that the least he could do for the ride was let Ruby have her keepsakes. "Aziraphale used it to get past the wards in the church. Should still be there if you want it that bad."

Ruby smiled at him. "Thanks."

She left then, closing the door softly behind her. Dean sighed in relief as silence returned, silence except for Sam's snoring. He managed to find the aspirin stuffed into the bottom of his bag and took enough to kill the pain in his chest and knock him out for a few hours.

As he collapsed gratefully onto the motel bed without even bothering to kick off his shoes, he caught sight of his phone on the dresser between the two beds. He had to squint a little to make out the message spelled on the screen.

_7 MISSED CALLS_

A brief check of the log confirmed his suspicions. All seven were from Bobby. Unfortunately, the thought of either confronting some new horror or listening to Bobby rant at him for five minutes about keeping his phone nearby was just as exhausting as getting knocked around by Alistair.

Fortunately, it was about that point that the aspirin kicked in. Dean felt his head go fuzzy, his eyelids go heavy, and that was the last thing he remembered for a very long time…

* * *

It was a cold day in Lower Tadfield.

Adam Young was taking a walk. He trudged through the carefully shoveled piles of snow that bordered the roads through the little town, taking one of the more indirect routes up to Jasmine Cottage. Dog trotted faithfully behind his master, only pausing every so often to bark wildly at the occasional daring bird.

Jasmine Cottage was nearly unrecognizable. Two years ago it had been a ramshackle shack rented only by those with no other choice. Nowadays, it looked positively…homey. Begonias bloomed in window boxes. The roof had been properly shingled for the first time since it had been built. The graying whitewash that had covered the walls had been replaced with something far more cheerful in green. What had started for Anathema Device as a place to wait for the end of the world had become a place to truly live in it.

Adam reached the front door and knocked a few times. They didn't have to wait long – Anathema opened the door for them a few seconds later.

"Oh. Hello there, Adam."

"Hello, Missus Device," said Adam, nodding politely at her. "I think I'm supposed to meet somebody here. Did she get here yet?"

"Yes. A little while ago." Anathema opened the door wider and stepped back for Adam and Dog. Adam had had a long talk with Anathema, soon after the Apocalypse that wasn't, and had eventually persuaded her to take down the horseshoe over the door because "Dog's allergic to rust, y'see, all those little tiny flakes get all up in his nose and make him sneeze." Therefore, Dog was noticeably less reluctant to enter to cottage than he had been earlier in his existence on Earth. He padded in happily after his master, but paused at the doorway to gnaw thoughtfully on Newt's shoes.

Newt was in the small kitchen off the main room, burning something for lunch. As Anathema closed the door behind them, Adam met the gaze of the third person in the room. He had never seen her before. She was tall like a stick bug and much too thin, in Adam's very definite opinion. She had long red hair that was several shades darker than Pepper's. Her skin was too pale and she looked like she hadn't slept well lately. But she smiled as Adam took a seat across from her.

"Adam Young, I presume?" asked the woman, smiling fleetingly at him.

"That's right. Adam Young. I suppose you'll be Anna, then."

Anna nodded. "Yes. That's me."

"I knew it had to be you. Only Anathema and Newt live up here, so I knew after you called me that if anybody else came up here it was probably going to be you." Adam broke their locked gazes, pretending to do up his dirty shoelaces. "You said you wanted to talk to me? Only I don't think you're a new teacher, because we just got a new teacher last year and everybody likes him. Even my dad likes him, and my dad's always going on about how schools nowadays aren't as good as the schools he used to go to."

Anna laughed quietly. "You're a very smart little boy, aren't you?"

"I do all right."

Anathema set two mugs of tea down on the table for them before going to help Newt with lunch. Strangely for Anathema, she did not pass comment on Adam's rather unusual diatribe. Adam and Anna thanked her as she silently went to join Newt in the kitchen.

For a few minutes there was silence between the two visitors, the silence of two generals facing one another across a barren battlefield. Tired, weary, and low on ammunition, neither quite prepared to make the first move…

Anna surrendered first. Pushing her chair back, she got to her feet with her mug still held carefully in both hands. "Do you want to talk outside, Adam?"

"It's awfully cold out there," said Adam distantly. He'd gone back to fiddling with his shoelaces.

"I don't mind. I don't think you do, either. Not if you don't want to. Besides, keeping an influence on them for this long isn't good for them. Or for you."

Adam looked up sharply.

"I know who you are," said Anna softly, her voice starting to tremble slightly. "I know what you've done…what you can do. That's why I've come here, Adam. I need your power. I need your _help_."

A shadow passed across Adam's face…for an instant, something very different and very powerful gazed up at Anna. She felt a shiver go down her spine, which was odd. Fear was something she hadn't felt since she'd been running for her life with Sam and Dean…it already seemed like a lifetime ago.

But then the shadow passed, and it was an ordinary thirteen year-old boy who was staring at her. Adam nodded once, then finished tying his shoelaces with a good deal more skill before getting to his feet. Picking up his mug, he went to the front door and opened it for Anna.

"After you," he said politely.


	21. Antichrist in the Outfield

It had been Newt who, in a fit of romanticism, had installed the bench swing a short distance from the cottage. Fortunately for all involved, Newt's skill at carpentry had proved to be leaps and bounds beyond his skills as a computer engineer, although biweekly classes at Norton Polytechnic and Power Tarot readings from Pepper's mother seemed to be improving matters. The bench only gave the faintest of creaks as Adam and Anna sat down. Dog curled up in the snow, as far from the angel as he could get.

"I'm sorry for deceiving you," said Anna, after a few moments of snow-covered silence. "But I needed you to invite me. The barrier around this area prevents anything supernatural from coming through."

"I know that," said Adam simply. "I put it there, after all. Fancy me not knowing what it does when I'm the one who put it there." He took a few slurping sips of his tea before scowling sidelong at Anna. "You better not be here because of those stupid Seals. I told that Lillith demon, it's nothing to do with me. If you are…"

"I am," said Anna softly. "But…at the same time…it's not about that."

"How does that work?"

Anna drained her mug before settling it conscientiously in the snow. "How much do you remember…about 'last time'?"

"All of it," said Adam. He settled his still-rather-full mug down as well, and Dog promptly scurried over to lap up was left. "Except it never happened. So there's nothing to remember."

"To the people inside that house, nothing happened that day," said Anna, her voice suddenly ringing with barely suppressed urgency. "But to Heaven and Hell…you stopped them both, Adam. They remember that. And they're not happy about it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Adam. He looked up at the angel, his face taking on that carefully calculated innocence used only on very special occasions of very deep trouble. "I'm Adam Young. Seems to me like you're the one who's pretending to be something you're not, you being an angel and all."

Anna smiled. "Yes. I suppose that's true. Thanks to them…you really are just Adam Young, at heart."

Adam nodded. "My parents always said…"

"Not your parents. You know who I mean. If you remember everything…then you must remember _them_."

Adam…did. He remembered an old abandoned air field, where he had stood with Wensley, Brian, Pepper, and Dog and faced the Famine, Pollution, War, and Death. He remembered Newt and Anathema, looking lost and unsure of what to do next. He remembered Sergeant Shadwell, made brave by his faith in a power he'd never had. He remembered Madame Tracy, who really wouldn't have been there if Aziraphale hadn't brought the matter to her attention.

He remembered Aziraphale, and Crowley. Aziraphale, who had come to the battle sharing the body of a middle-aged woman and intending to kill him on sight. Crowley, who had driven there in a flaming car simply because he'd run out of places to run to.

_The ground was shaking. The noise was like a subway train, but not one passing under. It sounded more like something was coming up._

_Crowley fumbled madly with the gear shift of their stolen jeep. "That's not Beelzebub!" he shouted, above the noise of the wind suddenly howling around their little army. "That's_ Him! _His Father! This isn't Armageddon, this is_ personal! _Start, you bloody thing!"_

_The ground moved under them all. Cracks spider webbed across the concrete, and yellow smoke boiled up from the gaps._

_"It feels like a volcano!" shouted Newt. "What is it?"_

_"Whatever it is, it's pretty angry!" Anathema cried._

_Crowley was blessing furiously, still trying desperately to start the jeep. Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder._

_"There are humans here," he said, his voice remarkably calm._

_"Yes," snapped Crowley. "_ And _me!"_

_"I mean…we shouldn't let this happen to them."_

_"Well, what…" Crowley began…before trailing off._

_"I mean, when you think about it, we've got them into enough trouble as it is. You and me. Over the years. What with one thing and another."_

_"We were only doing our jobs," Crowley muttered sullenly._

_"Yes. So what? Lots of people in history have only done their jobs, and look at the trouble_ they _caused."_

 _"You don't mean we should actually try to stop_ Him?! _"_

_"What have you got to lose?"_

He knew them. He had looked at them with the eyes of the Antichrist, and he _knew_ them. They were ancient beings and powerful, in their own specialized ways. Yet Adam remembered feeling a strange sort of kinship with them. In their own roundabout ways, they had both come to that empty airfield prepared to fight for the same thing. They had not been like the angels and demons waiting for his word to burn the world to nothing. They had come to fight for its survival.

"They're dead."

Adam jerked his head up to stare at her, surprised for the first time since that autumn day so many months ago. "What did you say?" he asked warily.

"They're dead," said Anna softly. "They were completely destroyed."

Adam could really think of nothing to say except, "That's too bad. But what do you expect me to do about it, then?"

He knew fully well now _why_ Anna had come to him – he simply held out hope that she would not ask him to do it. It had been getting harder and harder every day to simply _be_ Adam Young. As the battle raged beyond the borders of Lower Tadfield, he'd had to expend more and more of his power just to keep the forces of Heaven and Hell out of his home. Adam Young was just a thirteen year-old boy…he _needed_ the Antichrist to keep a lid on things.

His hopes proved worthless.

"I want you to bring them back."

Adam promptly pushed himself off the bench and began to trudge towards the path, his habitual slouch very firmly back in place. Dog abandoned the now-quite-slobbery mug to gallop after him.

"Adam, wait!" Anna cried, pushing herself to her feet and hurrying to join him. In response, Adam started running. What most adults, including Anna, did not realize was the Adam's slouch was quite an aerodynamic starting position for a mad dash.

But the fact remained that Anna was an angel and Adam was, despite everything, a human. By the time they made it down the hill, she managed to pull ahead of him and plant herself firmly in the middle of his path. This forced him to stumble to a stop – troublemaker he was, but the only girl he would ever willingly play rough with was Pepper.

But he scowled up at Anna as defiantly ever. "No," he said firmly. He tried to go around her. Anna grabbed him by his upper arm and jerked him back.

"Adam!" she cried, desperation in her voice.

"No!" Adam snapped, tugging his arm free with a force a human his size shouldn't have been able to muster. He put a few feet of distance between himself and Anna before turning to face her, the expression on his face cold and strange. Dog noticed this sudden change in his Master's temperament. He whimpered and backed away, unwilling to approach either Adam or Anna, and finally compromised by drawing off to the side equidistant between the two combatants.

Adam folded his arms tightly across his chest, his expression taking on that special…though human…brand of stubbornness reserved only for his father. "I won't do it," he said.

"Why?"

"I'm not fighting this time. I just want your lot and Lillith's lot to leave us all alone. I'll work for that…I'll use my special powers for that. But I won't fight, and I won't do anything that'll make me have to fight!"

"Adam…" Anna risked taking a few steps forward, before kneeling down to look the Antichrist in the eye. "Adam, you have to listen to me. We know about you. Hell knows about you. But with everyone fighting over the Seals, no one's been able to muster enough strength to risk opposing you. That doesn't mean they don't want your help. Hell wants you to help destroy the world, Heaven wants you to help save it." Anna took a deep breath. "It's good that you don't want to fight. The power you wield is dangerous and destructive and no good will come of you becoming what you were last time. I understand that, Adam. You shouldn't fight this time. But Crowley and Aziraphale _can_ fight, and they _will_ fight if you give them another chance. They won't just fight to stop Lucifer, they'll fight to save the world and everyone on it. The world needs beings like you, and like them."

Adam…was silent. He stared hard at the angel, his eyebrows furrowing in apparently deep thought.

He looked Up.

He looked Down.

And then he looked carefully Inside.

There were no showy special effects. There was just Crowley, stumbling a little as though he'd missed a step coming Down…or, in his case, Up. Dog looked up in good natured surprise, yapped at the demon, and bent down to curiously sniff his shoes.

"Shoo," said Crowley, stepping out of biting range. He'd learned to tread carefully around hellhounds, no matter what they looked like. Then, apparently noticing the change of scenery, he turned in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings. "…huh. If this is Hell, somebody's screwed up the paperwork again."

"It's not Hell," said Anna.

Crowley started in surprise and whirled back to face the two human-shaped figures staring at him intently…but relaxed very slightly when he recognized them both.

"Anna," he said, and smiled. "Long time, no smite. Looks like humanity didn't work out for you."

"Not as well as you might think." Anna had been an angel for a while, now…but she still managed to return Crowley's smile. "How are you?"

Crowley gave himself a cursory once-over. "All the right bits are attached. That's a good start. Did you actually…"

Anna shook her head. "I can't get away with stupid stunts like that anymore. You've got Adam here to thank for the rescue."

Crowley looked over at Adam. He nodded respectfully. "I'll do that, shall I? Thanks, kid."

Adam smiled. "You're welcome, Crowley."

"Now what about Aziraphale?"

Silence, but for the chirping of birds in the late afternoon sunshine.

"How did you know about Aziraphale?" asked Anna softly.

Crowley shrugged. "Lucky guess," he said bitterly. "He is dead, isn't he?"

Anna nodded. Crowley blessed fervently under his breath. "Who did it?"

"No one knows for sure. Castiel just…showed up with his body. I think he at least suspects who it was, but…he won't say."

"Uriel." Crowley growled low in his throat. "Had to be Uriel, that damned, blessed bastard!" He rounded on Adam. "You can bring him back, then?"

Adam nodded.

"Well, get on with it."

Adam shook his head.

Crowley bared his fangs. "Why not?"

"Angels is different," said Adam, folding his arms and frowning sullenly. "They don't die like you demons do. I can bring him back, sure, but I need to work a lot harder at it. I can't do it right now – I gotta eat dinner and go to sleep and eat breakfast before I can bring him back. That way I'll be strong enough."

As Crowley opened his mouth to snap at Adam, Anna stepped between them. "He's telling the truth, Crowley," she said, holding up her hands placatingly. "Angels don't die the same way humans or even demons die. We…scatter. Everything that we were gets scattered throughout the rest of the world. Picking out what was once Aziraphale is like searching for a few specific drops of water in the ocean. Even he'll need time to do that."

Adam nodded. "Exactly. I need time. Probably time tomorrow." He smiled confidently at Crowley. "He'll be back sometime tomorrow. So just be patient. Patience is a virtue, you know."

"I'm probably the wrong person to tell that to. Tomorrow, hm?"

"Uh-huh. You wanna stay here for tonight?"

Crowley shook his head. "No thanks. I'm all in favor of unnatural in the general sense, but _this_ place…" He glanced around at the carefully perfect scenery of Lower Tadfield and shook his head. "Nah." Turning on his heel, the demon started off determinedly down the path.

"If I've got twelve hours to wait, that means I've got time to get my car back."


	22. Revelation

Castiel was seeking Revelation.

He sat alone on an out of the way cliff on a rocky beach somewhere in California. He hadn't been paying much attention to the lay of the land. After all that had happened…with Aziraphale and Crowley, with Anna and with the Winchesters in particular…he'd found himself with too much on his mind to care about _where_ he sought answers. He had been here for a long while now. Doubtless, he would be here for a while longer. It didn't matter.

After all that had happened, he just wanted to be told what to do next.

He'd turned over what was left of Aziraphale to his garrison. He had found himself surprised to see real regret on the faces of the other angel's brethren. He had met Aziraphale several times in the past…had been one of the few angels unlucky enough to be burdened with the secret of the Arrangement. Yet he had never truly known where Aziraphale had stood among his own kind. He'd only known what his immediate comrades such as Uriel had told him.

Castiel had found, upon confirming the news of Aziraphale's death, that what Uriel had told him had been wrong. Aziraphale had been loved by his garrison, and they clearly regretted his passing.

Castiel had found Uriel shortly after that, near nightfall on the day after the battle in the church. Uriel had not regretted Aziraphale's death. Uriel had believed that Aziraphale and Crowley had deserved to die.

Once upon a time, Castiel would have felt the same.

Now…he was unsure.

Castiel was not used to being unsure, but ever since he'd been given responsibility of Dean Winchester he'd become more familiar with the feeling than ever in his entire existence. And so, to regain the sense of purpose that he'd come to expect as a servant of God, Castiel was seeking Revelation. He let his mind widen, opening himself to God's word.

It…was not easy.

_Thoughts_ kept getting in the way. Suspicious thoughts. _Impossible_ thoughts.

_Why had Crowley kidnapped him?_

Crowley had clearly known that _something_ was going on – he had known that an angel was necessary to break the Seal. Had he known that _Aziraphale_ would have had to die? If he had…and he'd _still_ tricked Castiel into coming to the church while sending Aziraphale away…had he actually been acting in their interest? Had he actually been trying to _help_ them? If Castiel had died, the Seal wouldn't have broken, and Aziraphale might have actually realized that something was wrong and gotten away.

_Why had Aziraphale been killed?_

Uriel _had_ certainly known that Aziraphale's death would unlock the Seal. Nevertheless, he had killed him anyway. Uriel was a _specialist_ …a specialist in death, and destruction. Yet he was not entirely without control. He could have simply subdued Aziraphale, who was in no way his equal in power. Once the battle had gone beyond the range of the seals meant to keep angels out, he could have called for reinforcements from Aziraphale's garrison. But he had not done so. He had killed the Angel of the Eastern Gate, and in doing so he had brought the world one step closer to destruction.

Both of these were problems…deep, complex, and _dangerous_ problems.

If the demon to blame for sin could be good…

If the angel who had spent the last six thousand years a paragon of God's will could give in to vice…

Castiel trusted Uriel. They were brothers. Uriel had helped him countless times over the course of their respective existences. He would not… _could not_ …doubt that Uriel would do as he was commanded, would do what was best.

And yet…

_Who had drawn the Devil's Trap?_

Worried and unsure, Castiel nevertheless sat patiently and waited for the truth to be told to him.


	23. What Ruby Told Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I'm gonna level with you guys. I can tell a lot of you like this fic. But before you read this chapter, I want you to take a look up at the pairings list. See the one that's not Castiel/Uriel?
> 
> That one is going to be *blatant* in this chapter. I confess myself to be fond of the headcanon, and I really do think the pairing works, at least in the sense of Crowley not knowing what Ruby is actually planning. I do not actually ship Crowley/Aziraphale, I shop Crowley/Ruby. If that bugs you? Wait until tomorrow.

Ruby had to admit that she wasn’t… _entirely_ surprised when, barely three days after his death, she came out of the restaurant to find Crowley leaning against the Bentley, very clearly waiting for her. It was an out-of-the-way restaurant in one of Oklahoma’s bigger cities, but she supposed she should have known he’d come back for his Bentley.

She smiled at him as she crossed the parking lot. He nodded politely at her.

“Ruby.”

“Crowley.” She let her smile widen slightly. “You’re getting to be the Houdini of the demon world, you know.”

The other demon shrugged. “It’s all in who you know.” He gently patted the hood of the car. “It looks…good.”

“I did my best.” She knew how painful it was for him to admit that anyone could look after his car as well as he could.

Crowley did, too. He grimaced slightly and flicked an imaginary speck of dust off the emblem. “You kept it out of a wreck, at least,” he amended, and Ruby continued to smile.

"When did you get back?” she asked.

“Day before yesterday.”

 “Don’t tell me Alistair let you go?”

“Nope.” He flashed her a brief, cocky smile. “Despite what Aziraphale may tell you, I like to consider myself quite honest. It’s all in who you know, Ruby.”

“Well…” Ruby folded her arms and regarded him thoughtfully. “I’ve known you a long time, Crowley. I really shouldn’t be surprised that you ‘know people.’”

She wasn’t sure who closed the distance between them first, but that didn’t change the fact that suddenly they were in one another’s arms and he was kissing her and she was kissing him and it was _so_ easy to remember why she’d let him tempt her in the first place, so long ago…

They only broke apart when a nearby gang of teenagers started wolf whistling. Crowley made a face and a strange gesture with his hand, and the gang suddenly had a lot more to worry about when the tires on each and every one of their motorcycles went flat. For good measure, the canned air cans a few of the smarter kids had kept attached to their bikes exploded, which proved to be enough to send all six running off.

Ruby smiled wistfully as she watched them run. “God was having a good day when he made you.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Crowley murmured. He stuck his hands into his pockets and turned back to face her, suddenly a good deal more businesslike. “So. My car.”

 “Your car,” Ruby agreed. “All yours. I just…kept it warm for you.”

“Good. That’s…very good.” She could see him trying to keep the emotion out of his voice, but his eyes betrayed him even from behind the sunglasses. “I’ll have it back, then.”

“Fine.” Ruby took a few pointed steps back. “You’ve got it.”

Crowley nodded at her, opened the driver’s side door, and made to get in.

“Aziraphale.”

He paused, and looked back at her. “Hm?”

“Where’s Aziraphale?”

“That is a very good question.”

Crowley stared straight ahead, this time perfectly expressionless even to her, as the Bentley rumbled to life. But then he adjusted his sunglasses…enough for her to look straight into the snake’s yellow eyes.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “We’ll…we’ll find _some_ way to stop this. If there’s an ‘on’ switch, there must be an ‘off’ switch, right?”

Ruby nodded. “Best of luck.”

“I’ll need it.” A smile flickered over his face, before his expression became one that she thought just might be…regret. “And…Ruby?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.” He said those two words with more sincerity than she had ever heard from him…and Ruby didn’t think she had _ever_ heard Crowley apologize for anything in the seven centuries since she’d met him. She blinked in surprise. “For you. For what I did. It’s just…I thought, dying by the _Plague_ …” He shuddered. “Nasty business, that. Wasn’t any of my work,” he added quickly. “But…”

Ruby realized that it was the first time he’d even mentioned that day, let alone apologized for it. Amazing what death could do to you. 

“It’s okay.” She stepped close enough to the car to lay a hand on his shoulder. “I made that deal willingly. I knew what I was getting into. Hell, I’m still flattered that you were willing to stick yourself out there for me. Besides…” She gestured expansively at the world around them…at the restaurants and the roads, the cars and the thousands and thousands of people. “If I hadn’t made that deal, I wouldn’t be alive today. I wouldn’t be able to see any of this.”

Crowley nodded, staring out at the world. “Yeah…” Then, he shrugged. “Best part about the twenty-first century?”

“What’s that?” She knew the answer all too well, but she still let him say it.

“It’s seven centuries away from the fourteenth.” He smiled up at her, and she caught the briefest hint of snake-like fangs. “See you around, Ruby.”

Ruby took the hint, and stepped back further from the car. “See you around, Crowley.”

He pushed his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose and sat down in the driver’s seat. He slammed the door shut, but not before she caught the faint, familiar strains of Queen. The Bentley peeled out of the parking lot at high speed, and Ruby watched with her eyes shaded from the sun until it was lost to traffic.

She’d known Crowley for about a year before he’d made the Deal with her – her life for her soul. He’d spent much of that year either deeply drunk or terminally depressed and largely in her company, even after she’d contracted the Plague. She’d known he was a demon within the first few days. She’d only realized that he’d grown to love her when he’d offered her the bargain. Taking on a mortal’s contract was risky business, which was why most demons preferred to act only as middlemen. Crowley, however, had made the deal himself and kept it himself. She knew he hadn’t wanted to, she knew that he’d known fully well what tortures would await her in Hell.

But she’d wanted to live just as much as he’d wanted to save her, and she’d agreed knowing fully well what was to come.

The feelings they shared for one another were strange. She knew that he was a traitor to demon kind, that he was basically untrustworthy. But, then again, she knew that most demons saw her as a traitor for working with the Winchesters, and she couldn’t even remember anymore how many lies she’d had to tell just to survive. Yet their time together since they’d first met shortly before she’d contracted the Plague had always reaffirmed her belief that he loved her. She loved him, she could not deny that, but…

...if she achieved her goal – and she planned on it – Crowley could not be allowed to live. He cared about the world too much, and would say and do anything to protect it. Ruby loved the world of the humans, too, but her feelings for it were nothing compared to her desire to bring Lucifer to his rightful place of power. So, if it came to a choice…and it would, in the end…Crowley would have to die.

Ruby sighed, and let herself feel a pang of regret. But she forced herself to think of Sam. When Lucifer rose, Sam would not fall. He would stand at her Master’s side, and she would stand at his. Ruby knew that she could trust Sam to know what to do, to not betray her when the moment came…

It was sad, but when all was said and done, no war came without sacrifices.

 


	24. Back in Black

Although Sam and Dean did not see Crowley or Aziraphale again for a very long time, they did get some hint of the demon's resurrection three days after they left the small town in Washington.

The first clue came when Dean woke up in their motel room that morning and realized that his broken rib didn't hurt. A more thorough examination by Sam confirmed that every single injury that had been inflicted on him by Alistair had healed. Afterwards, Dean dragged his little brother to the mirror to show Sam the same thing – he, too, had been completely healed.

"Castiel?" Sam asked, scanning his arm for any trace of the bruises caused by Hastur's grip. They hadn't heard anything from him since he'd left them on the lawn of the church.

"There are a lot of reasons I don't like Cas," said Dean, running a hand over his chest with its miraculously unbroken bones. "But I like to think that if he could've patched us up he'd have done it before. I don't think he's got that kind of power."

"Then what do you think happened to us, Dean? Because I'm drawing a blank. You were going to be in bandages for another month, and I still couldn't fully extend my arm."

Dean shrugged. "Cas told me that Aziraphale…"

"He's _dead_ , Dean." Sam didn't even bother to look away from his reflection in the mirror. Dean made a face.

"Sure, _Aziraphale's_ dead," he said. "But he can't have been the only one of his kind, right? I mean, I looked him up. He's a…a 'cherubim', ain't he? I thought there were a lot of those."

Sam shook his head "Bobby e-mailed me…well, an angelic 'family tree', I guess. Aziraphale's down as a Principality."

"Demoted for bad behavior?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." Finally satisfying himself that he was whole, Sam turned back to face Dean and shrugged. "I guess it's possibleone of his friends dropped by to patch us up. Principalities are like the traditional 'guardian angels', after all. Maybe one of them owed him a favor."

"Then I'd say he made good use of it." Dean nodded in satisfaction and got to his feet, stretching properly for the first time in days. "I say we celebrate the lack of bandages with some breakfast. Actually, we celebrate by me getting to drive _my_ car to wherever we're going to eat."

Sam made a face, but there was a smile hidden beneath it. "You got it." He grabbed the Impala's keys from where he'd left them on the cabinet and tossed them to Dean.

His brother caught them lazily in one hand. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Not a problem. You're the _biggest_ backseat driver I've ever met, after all."

Dean only grinned. "Well, you snore."

After securing their possessions – they wouldn't be coming back – the Winchesters walked out into the parking lot where the Impala waited safely by the curb. They spent a few minutes loading what they owned in the trunk before getting into the car.

"What's nearby?" asked Sam.

"Not a clue," said Dean. He started the car and prepared to back out of the lot. "Still, places like this generally have something nearby. Trust me, Sam, five minutes, and…and…"

Dean trailed off, his eyes going wide, because the car radio had just begun to play.

_"He's just a poor boy from a poor family…spare him his life from this monstrosity…"_

Before the next word was uttered, Dean had ejected the tape and started to rummage through the box of cassettes. "Sam, swear to _God_ , you have the weirdest taste in music…"

"Don't look at me," said Sam. "I'm a fan of music from _this_ decade, thanks."

Ordinarily, an attack on his favorite musical genre would have at least provoked a rude hand gesture from Dean. But his brother's searching had just taken on a frantic edge and, as Sam watched, he actually pulled the box onto his lap and continued to poke around.

"What the hell is going on here?" His brother's voice was hoarse and scared.

"…Dean?"

"'The Invisible Man'? 'Spread Your Wings'? _'We Will Rock You'?_ " Dean stared up at Sam, his face suddenly ashen. "These are not my damn tapes."

Sam took the box and shifted through it, but his brother's fears seemed to be well founded. Instead of the typical mix of Black Sabbath, Motorhead, and Metallica, there was nothing but…

"'Queen'?" Sam asked incredulously, frowning in puzzlement. "These are _all_ 'Best of Queen' tapes? Dean, what the hell did you _drink_ last night?!"

"I didn't drink a damn thing!" Dean snapped. "Doctor's orders!"

"Since when do you listen to doctors?"

"Since this time, okay? You were still up by the time I passed out…" Dean put his head in his hands and let out a heartfelt groan. " _Queen!_ All my tapes _gone_ …for frickin' _Queen_! Who the _hell_ still listens to _Queen_?!"

And then he froze. He froze because he remembered that night less than a week ago when he'd been driving a Bentley instead of an Impala, and the first song to come on when he'd turned the keys in the ignition had been _Queen_ …

"Crowley," Dean hissed. "Son of a bitch."

"Crowley?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. "But Dean, he's…"

"No normal human being listens to this much Queen!" Dean said, cutting his brother off. "No _human_ being listens to this much Queen!"

Suddenly, the implications of what he was saying hit him, and he found himself smiling grimly. "Well, well, well…that means he's back. Should've known a sneaky snake like him wouldn't even stay dead. You know what, Sammy? That's good. That's _very_ good." Dean replaced the cassette case with a certain finality. "That means I can find him and stuff every one of these stupid tapes down his throat."

"Dean…I saw him die."

"So did I, but after the year we've had so far I'll believe just about anything now." Dean glanced at his brother. "Sam…I want you to listen very carefully. I am giving you special and _temporary_ dispensation to hook up your IPod thingy again. Go get it."

His little brother smiled. The thought of even a temporary respite from Dean's music choices…which he accepted with resignation rather than liked…was a beautiful thing, indeed. He promptly got out and went to the trunk, where they'd stowed their bags, and Dean heard him rummaging for the IPod. If it was a choice between silence, Queen, or the IPod, at least Sam liked what this decade claimed was rock and roll.

Crowley was alive.

Dean grinned. Crowley was alive. He found that that knowledge…and it _was_ knowledge, he _knew_ now that Crowley was alive…made him very, very happy. He had argued with Sam for well over a year about trusting Ruby, but even though Crowley _had_ betrayed them all he had done it for the right reasons. He found that he was glad that the Serpent had slithered out of Death's clutches – somehow, it made him feel like they still had a chance.

Sam slid back into the passenger's seat and closed the door again. Dean rolled his eyes theatrically but said nothing as his brother hooked up the converter. As he pulled the Impala out of the lot, Sam remained bent over the music player, scrolling through songs, before…

"There we go," said Sam, smiling in satisfaction as he plugged the IPod in. Dean grimaced as the song began…and then he realized what was playing, and laughed out loud.

_"Back in black…I hit the sack…I've been too long and I'm glad to be back, I bet you know I'm…"_

"Have I told you lately that I love you, Sam?" asked Dean, as he paused for breath between lyrics. Sam was smiling as he stared out the window, searching for a place to grab some breakfast.

"No. And let's keep it that way," he said. His expression sobered briefly. "While I was trying to bring you back, I loaded up some Metallica, Survivor…stuff like that. Listening to it made it feel like you weren't completely _gone_."

Awkward silence fell between the two Winchesters. Dean really didn't know how to respond to that. He wasn't sure if there _was_ a wayto respond to that. Things had changed between them. He knew they had and Sam knew they had. He hated that, and _wanted_ things to be back to normal, back to the way they'd been _before_ Hell, but…

Dean suddenly smiled as a thought struck him. He reached for the IPod and gave the volume wheel a turn up, throwing down the gauntlet.

_"Well I'm back…yes I'm back…well I'm back, back…well I'm back in black…"_

"Dean…" Sam had some trouble making himself heard over the music. "Think you could turn down the volume before my ears start bleeding?"

"House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Sam looked like someone had smacked him upside the head. "It's _my_ IPod!"

Dean flicked the volume up again. "Sorry, I can't hear you!" he called across the seat. "The music's too loud!"

He wasn't sure if Sam saw the connection to their past in the loud music and complete stubbornness on the part of his older brother. But he also couldn't quite convince himself that he _hadn't_ seen Sam's mouth twitch upward ever so slightly as he was rebuffed, so Dean let himself feel a little bit better as he turned into the diner Sam pointed out as his choice for breakfast.

_"Back…back in black! Yes I'm back in black…out of sight!"_


	25. Dear

With his Bentley in tow and no apparent sign that Hell was aware of his Second Coming, Crowley had finally returned to London. He had returned to the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets, the frustrated pedestrians, and the abundance of useless, modern conveniences that only made life that much less convenient. He'd returned to his flat, where he'd been forced to spend a full day viciously pruning his houseplants…he vanished for a few shorts months and the little piles of dirt thought it was all right to let their leaves go brown. After that, he divided his spare time liberally between re-stocking his apartment with hopeful specimens, updating himself on the backlog of _Golden Girls_ episodes online, and tempting humans.

Technically he was no longer required. Hastur was dead and if Alistair was on his case, he was being remarkably low-key about it even for Alistair. But the urge to tempt and do malicious wrongs was a part of him. It was what he'd, indirectly, been born to do. But Crowley prided himself on having curbed his natural tendencies towards evil down to occasional cravings. It was like a drug he went to meetings to cure – he could stop, if he really wanted to, but life just wasn't right without it.

Crowley hadn't meant to Fall. He'd just hung around with the wrong kind of people. He'd Sauntered Vaguely into Damnation – he hadn't even realized he'd done wrong until Aziraphale's friends had started giving him funny looks.

He also indulged himself in regular and high velocity Bentley rides – partly for the sheer joy of being alive to drive it, and partly to acquaint himself with his new collection of cassette tapes. He knew that Dean would be pissed that he'd swapped their cassette sets, but Crowley chose to consider them payment for being forced to exercise his meager healing skills. It would all be Queen in a matter of weeks, anyway. He hadn't liked Black Sabbath, and Metallica had been right out the window. However, he'd found himself enjoying Led Zeppelin and Survivor, and he suspected even Aziraphale might like Asia.

Such were his reflections as, on the morning of the fifth day since the battle, he stood at the edge of the pond in St. James park and tossed breadcrumbs absently into the water. He wasn't exactly feeding the ducks, because the ducks had never been very enthusiastic about being fed by individuals. Clandestine government meetings never took place with only one person present. Most of them were in fact busy trying to catch the attention of the Czechoslovakian cultural attaché – a newcomer and currently unknown quantity – who was currently talking in hushed tones with the Serbian ambassador. Crowley therefore couldn't quite understand what in the world he was doing there – he'd just gotten into the Bentley that morning and found himself here.

He liked the ducks of St. James Park. They were one of the few constants in his life. The large pond was also one of his most dependable meeting places with Aziraphale. Even when nothing was wrong, sometimes they'd both just stop by on the same day and at the same time. Sometimes they never said anything to each other, sometimes they even fed the ducks on opposite sides of the pond, but that didn't matter. It reaffirmed for themselves the fact that the Arrangement was still there.

However, four solid days had passed since his own resurrection…two since he'd come back to London…and yet he'd seen neither hide nor hair of the angel. He'd checked the bookshop in Soho. It had been there, large as life, back where it belonged, which could only have been done by Aziraphale or Adam. He'd even let himself in and seen that the place looked a little less dusty than usual. The books in particular had been carefully tended to quite recently.

That probably meant that Aziraphale _was_ back…

…but then, where in Heaven's name was he?!

He wondered sometimes, as the days went by, whether Aziraphale believed that he'd been working for Alistair that night he'd kidnapped Castiel. Never mind the fact that Aziraphale had been in the Bentley with him barely an hour before, eating with him as though nothing at all had been wrong. Crowley had already had to remind himself several times that he could have taken him to Alistair then, and probably gotten away without dying in the bargain. But he'd taken Castiel instead. He knew that probably didn't mean much to those who had been forced to come to the rescue, but…well…

Crowley had been marked as a traitor ever since that whole business with Eve, so he knew he shouldn't have been surprised that Castiel and Uriel, the Winchesters, _and_ Aziraphale believed that he'd betrayed them. Alistair, on the other hand, had _expected_ him to betray the demons. The depressing fact was that Alistair had been right. The good guys were the ones being suspicious, prejudiced bastards. Maybe he'd been spoiled by his time with Aziraphale, maybe he'd never gotten over his deep-seated optimism, but Crowley had come to expect more of those who claimed to be the "good guys."

Well, he supposed it didn't matter much. Aziraphale had been mad at him plenty of times before. Early on in their relationship, they'd really downright hated one another and would go decades without crossing paths, and even then most of their meeting would end with one of them discorporating the other. He'd get over it. He always did. It came with the angelic territory.

There were other places he could probably look, but Crowley didn't bother. The battle for the Seals was heating up – Aziraphale was probably assisting the angels, while Crowley planned on keeping his head down. Besides, the Arrangement didn't hinge on them being able to track one another down. It hinged on the fact that, when one of them needed help, the other would be around. Crowley didn't need any help from the angel…probably wouldn't for a while yet, because neither Heaven nor Hell even knew he was alive.

Crowley was immortal.

He was prepared to wait.

He tossed the last of the breadcrumbs at the ducks, crumpled up the paper bag, and tossed it into the grass. He bit back a sigh, staring at the pedestrians filling the park around him. He found himself looking for any hint of Aziraphale – a camelhair overcoat, pale blond hair. But that was a pointless and stupid thing to do, and he knew it.

He shrugged. Aziraphale would show up…eventually. He always did. And until something else came by to mess him about…be it angel, demon, or human…Crowley planned on keeping his head down and staying out of the way. The world could make its way without him for a while.

Sticking his hands firmly in his pockets, Crowley turned away and started the long walk across the park back to the Bentley.

The first words that crossed his mind when he saw a figure leaning against the car and the driver's side door open were "car thief." But as Crowley opened his mouth to call out, the newcomer lifted his head to look back at him and smiled pleasantly, holding up a cassette tape he'd clearly taken from the car.

"You know…" said Aziraphale. "I really don't think these are yours, my dear."

 


	26. Epilogue: Harps and Pitchforks

            Somehow, they ended up going to lunch together. They passed by the Ritz, instead ending up in one of London’s fascinating little cafés where they were known to the staff.

            “When did you get back?” asked Crowley, finishing with the wine and handing the bottle back to Aziraphale.

            “Just a few days ago.” Aziraphale settled the bottle down by his plate, but didn’t take any. Instead, he picked absently at his salad without meeting his counterpart’s gaze. “I am sorry I didn’t contact you, you know. Adam told me you’d gone back to America.”

            “I wanted my car back. I’ve been here for three days since.”

            “Oh.” Aziraphale looked…a little surprised.

            “I stopped by your shop,” Crowley continued, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

            “I’ve been…rather busy.”

            “Oh.” The demon made a face and looked away. The angel elaborated anyway.

            “My garrison…they were in some rather serious trouble. It seems Lillith’s finally decided to join the battle. She’d captured Raphael, and they wanted our help to rescue him.”

            “Oh.”

            Aziraphale had always liked Raphael. No surprise that Aziraphale’s garrison had gotten called in to help – they weren’t the strongest fighters, but they were tougher than most demons would expect. No surprise that Aziraphale, who was a basically virtuous being despite centuries existing among humans, had joined the fight.

            “Did you win?” was what he finally asked, looking up at Aziraphale and raising an eyebrow. Aziraphale finally looked him in the eyes and smiled weakly.

            “Yes, we did,” he said. “We…lost a few of our number, but Raphael is safe.” Pushing his plate aside, the angel leaned across the table, his expression suddenly dead sober despite the fact that the wine bottle was half-empty. “Crowley…I realized something while I was away. I must admit, I’d been wondering whether or not I was right for a while now, but it was only after that beastly affair rescuing Raphael that I found myself with proof.”

            Crowley leaned in closer, lowering his voice so that they wouldn’t be overheard by the restaurant’s few human patrons. “And?”

            Aziraphale took a deep breath, his face suddenly ashen. Crowley found himself tensing up. When his counterpart spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.

            “The demons aren’t the ones who have been killing us. They’ve captured us, wounded us, banished us and blocked us…but they haven’t been killing us.” It sounded as though speaking was suddenly an effort, as though Aziraphale had to fight to force the words out of his mouth. “When we were fighting Lillith and her followers, I saw Puriel…you remember Puriel, Crowley.”

            Crowley nodded silently.

            It was during the battle…” the angel continued hoarsely. “Puriel was right in the middle of it. Cerviel noticed that he seemed to be struggling. He went to help, and he managed to drive the demons away. He turned his back on Puriel to continue fighting, and…”

            The demon exhaled sharply. He’d been wondering since Adam had brought him back how Aziraphale had died in the first place. If what the angel was saying was true…

            “Puriel raised his sword…and quite literally stabbed him in the back. I saw it all. I saw Cerviel burn away. And then I saw Puriel turn away and continue killing demons as though nothing at all had happened.”

            Crowley had to give Aziraphale a few minutes to pull himself together after that. Throughout their association with one another, he had seen the Angel of Eden cry a few times…the Plague, the Crusades, and the Spanish Inquisition all being notable examples. But Cerviel had been Aziraphale’s garrison leader. He’d been decent, for an angel that never got out much. Crowley remembered getting cornered by Cerviel shortly after receiving his commendation for the Inquisition, remembered forcing out his frantic denials of involvement through gut-wrenching fear…and then remembered being let go. Cerviel had been one of the few “servants of God” to remember that even Crowley had once been an angel, and that some habits died hard.

            Finally, Aziraphale pressed on, urgency in his eyes. “Uriel was the one who killed me that night, Crowley, shortly after he killed you,” he said softly. “And I saw Puriel kill Cerviel. Don’t you find it odd that our two sides have been fighting for eternity, yet it’s only through our own detachment that your lot continues to exist.” Aziraphale lowered his voice until even Crowley could barely hear him. “Angels are betraying us, my dear. And they’re killing us. I’m positive Uriel is one of them.”

            “You want to drop by and warn Cassie?”

            Aziraphale shook his head. “No. I think Castiel is safe…for the moment. Uriel has always been fond of him. He’ll give him more chances than he’s given the rest of us. Besides…this is probably a lesson he needs to know.” At this, he managed to smile. “Castiel’s a bright boy, he just needs a shove in the right direction.”

            Crowley nodded – Aziraphale was probably right. But his counterpart wasn’t done. Leaning back in his chair, he finally poured himself some wine from the bottle and drained his glass in one. With a sigh, he stared at the demon. “We need to do something, you know. Now more than ever.”

            “ ‘We’?” Crowley shook his head. “No thanks, angel. I’ve had enough of getting kicked around and burned alive. I’m planning on keeping clear of this mess and letting things play out on their own.”

            Aziraphale looked appalled at this declaration. “Crowley, you can’t mean that!”

            “I’m a demon of my word, aren’t I?” Crowley folded his arms. “I can and I do.”

            Aziraphale opened his mouth to continue protesting…and then, to Crowley’s amazement, he closed it and smiled. Crowley had never liked it when the angel smiled like that. It always reminded him that, although Aziraphale was a basically virtuous being, you couldn’t live among humans for most of your existence without learning _something_.

            “Very well,” his friend said coolly, passing the wine bottle back to Crowley and going instead for the bread rolls. “That is your right, of course. No one has the right to free will more than you. Of course, I assume you know what it will mean for you if your side wins. No more cassette tapes. No more vintage cars carefully looked after from new. No Sunday comics.”

            Crowley groaned and hid his face in his hands. Aziraphale pressed on ruthlessly. “No fascinating new species of houseplants to bully. No silly little traffic laws to violate. No dolphins, no angel cake…no out of the way little tourist attractions where they sell postcards…no…”

            The Serpent of Eden held up a hand, raised his head slightly, and glared at the Angel of Eden.

            “You bastard,” he hissed.

            Aziraphale laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair with a look of uncharacteristic smugness. “You _know_ I’m right,” he said. “I’d be as happy with a harp as you’d be with a pitchfork.”

            “You know we don’t use pitchforks.”

            “And wedon’t play harps. I was being rhetorical.”

            There was no memory like a six thousand year old memory. Crowley bared his teeth at Aziraphale, but not his fangs. He _did_ know that he was right. And that was why he ended up returning Aziraphale’s smile.

            “Always knew you were enough of a bastard to be worth liking,” he said. Something caught his eyes outside the window – he took a second look, just to be sure, then looked back at Aziraphale. “Can you get back to your shop all right?”

            Aziraphale blinked, clearly thrown by the subject change. “Yes, of course.”

            Crowley pushed himself up from the table. “Do that, will you? I’ll…see you there.” He looked out the window again. Aziraphale followed his gaze and saw for himself that two demons were walking together down the street. “And for His sake, clean the place up, will you? I’ll be bringing… _company_ , after all.”

            “Of course, my dear.”

            Aziraphale smiled at him, and Crowley suddenly knew that the angel had always trusted him. That knowledge made him feel a little less damned, a little less alone, and as he waved farewell to his counterpart there was a newfound vigor in his step as he headed for the door.

            Aziraphale watched him as Crowley walked back out onto the sidewalk, watched as he caught the attention of the two stray demons, both of whom had clearly heard of him without hearing of his recent death. He watched as Crowley drew them both into a conversation, probably leading up to the “revelation” that Aziraphale could re-seal the Seals.

            Crowley would fight for the world, but he would fight in his own special way. He would fight with deception and trickery, but…well, that was how Crowley was.

            As Aziraphale carefully left their payment for the meal on the table before teleporting away back to his bookshop, he knew that the world would be a very strange place if his friend were any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, folks! Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed my not-so-little fic. I certainly enjoyed writing it, even if it was a teeny bit exhausting.
> 
> I have ideas of What Might Happen Next. However, I've never been able to figure out how to properly tie them together without doing a full on Canon Rewrite, which I happen to suck at. So, if this is continued, it will likely be in the form of several smaller fics in a series. All the same, I do hope to get there one day.
> 
> If I don't, though, I hope this at least was a satisfying read.


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